


I Move the Stars for No One

by 221BJen (jcoz1701)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mary is Not Nice, Minor Character Death, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, series 3 fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 21:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7591105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcoz1701/pseuds/221BJen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 3 fixit that deviates after The Empty Hearse. No baby, no wedding, it was just too exhausting to deal with! :)</p><p>Warning: Mary is not a good person in this. If you are a Mary fan, just click out now, no hard feelings. Okay? Okay.</p><p>As always, huge thanks to my dear friends Callie4180, EnduringChill and gowerstreet for their tireless support.</p><p>This is almost completely written, so not really a WIP. I will do my best to update weekly and may update more often if I have time to write the last chapter ahead of schedule. Thanks and enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Within You - David Bowie (Labyrinth)

 

How you turned my world, you precious thing

You starve and near exhaust me

Everything I've done, I've done for you

I move the stars for no one

You've run so long

You've run so far

Your eyes can be so cruel

Just as I can be so cruel

Though I do believe in you

Yes, I do

Live without the sunlight

Love without your heartbeat

I, I can't live within you

I can't live within you

 

Chapter 1

 

“I’ll talk him ‘round.”

Sherlock stared at this small blonde creature that had taken the place at John’s side. His place. His eyes closed as he pressed the handkerchief to his bleeding nose. He should have expected this. Mycroft was going to be unbearably smug. He glanced at her again.

“You will?” 

She smiled at him and the deductions danced around her in his head. “Oh yeah.” John called her name and she went to him. Sherlock’s entire face throbbed and he felt a trickle of what could only be blood run down his back. That would need to be taken care of soon. The fabric was already starting to stick and he had probably torn a stitch or two. 

He watched the cab pull away with a very angry, but very much alive John Watson contained within. The pain was worth it.

\--

John ignored Mary’s concerned look and took her hand to ground himself. He needed to say something, anything. “Can you believe his nerve?”

Mary smiled. “I like him.”

“What?”

She shrugged. “I like him.” She looked out the window before she could see the utterly bewildered look on his face. He didn’t understand anything that had happened tonight. Of course the moment John had finally decided to move on, Sherlock bloody Holmes would show up larger than bloody life. John never had been able to actually propose. Mary knew what he was trying to do, but it still didn’t sit right with him. 

And what the hell was all of that about his mustache? He wanted to snatch his hand away but he settled for a gentle squeeze instead. “You could have said, you know?”

“Hmm?” She sounded distracted and this time he did take his hand back.

“About this.” He gestured to his face. “If you didn’t like it, you could have said.” 

Mary waved a hand at him. “I don’t mind, really, it’s just not very,” she hesitated, “flattering?”

John groaned. “Mrs. Hudson was right.”

“From what you’ve told me, she generally is. What did she say?” Mary leaned forward, a small smile on her lips now that she was sure that John wasn’t offended. 

“She said it ‘ages’ me.” He gave her a sideways glance and realized that she was trying to stifle a giggle. “Oi! Not funny!”

“It really is.” She leaned forward and kissed him, brushing her lips over the offending bristles. “Mmm. Maybe you should grow a beard, instead.” 

John glared at her. “Very funny.”

“I’m serious. I think you’d look rather dashing with a beard.” Her eyes were bright and mischievous. “Besides, beards can be fun once they’re all nice and soft.”

John’s heart thumped. He was reminded why he loved this woman so much. He kissed her again, with a little more intent this time. “I’ll see what I can do.”

\--

Sherlock trudged up the seventeen steps, Mrs. Hudson’s scream still ringing in his ears. The homecoming that he had imagined had been shattered the moment that he walked into that restaurant. Mycroft was a bastard for not telling him about Mary, but his brother  _ was _ a bit dramatic. 

He had known as soon as he saw John what was about to happen. He was a fool for thinking that everything had frozen in time while he had been away. The bravado that he had shown Mycroft had been pathetic, and they both knew it. If it hadn’t been for John’s violent reaction he wouldn’t have had to witness Mycroft’s smug face before finally coming home.

He opened the door and breathed in the scent of dust and time. So familiar, but missing a vital component. John. He pulled his coat off, wincing at the stress that the movement put on the sutures that were holding him together. Mrs. Hudson’s tearful embrace had broken through the ache dulled by the ibuprofen that he had been allowed and the wounds had flared to life once again. Damn Mycroft and his insistence on nothing stronger.

Sherlock kicked off his shoes and tried to sink down into his chair, but his back wouldn’t allow it. Everything was wrong. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and lowered his face into his hands. It was finally over and he was home at last, but at what cost?

\--

John looked at himself in the mirror. Sherlock Holmes was  _ alive _ . He felt a little faint at the thought. The son of a bitch was  _ alive _ . 

And John wanted nothing to do with him.

All of the pain and heartache. The long nights where he had stared at his gun only to put it away when a new day dawned. When he had decided to live, for that moment. All of that grief had been for the sake of a fucking game. Fury rose up, fast and hateful, and he clenched his fists to keep from punching the wall, the mirror.  _ Anything. Everything _ . He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He settled for falling into the breathing exercise his therapist had taught him. It had helped to work through the panic attacks that he’d had for months after Sherlock died.

Not dead.  _ Damn him _ .

Stupid. All of the things that he had finally made himself say to Ella. All of the things he had said to Mary in the dark.  _ Oh god _ . John leaned on the counter and breathed.

He’d left Mary still swaddled up in the covers of their bed while he was having his nervous breakdown in the loo, but he had heard her get up a few minutes ago and make the bed as she did every morning. She’d want the bathroom soon.  He stared at himself in the mirror and scrubbed a hand over his face, wincing a bit at the feel of the mustache under his palm. John stroked a finger over it and decided then and there that it had to go.

He had just finished lathering his face when he heard Mary’s voice from the bedroom. “His movements were so silent. So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent.” 

What the hell was she on about? “You what?” The words sounded familiar but…

“I couldn’t help thinking what an amazing criminal he’d make if he turned his talents against the law.” 

John sighed and opened the door to the ensuite to see Mary reading off her tablet with childlike glee. She didn’t understand. “Don’t read that.” 

Mary stared at the screen, enthralled. When she admitted that she had never really read the blog before they met, other than his most recent entries, he never would have imagined that he would regret okaying her to do so. “The famous blog, finally!”

John wanted her to stop. They were the obsessive words of a fool. It had meant nothing. Well, almost nothing. Until last night, John had been convinced that it was the damn blog that had brought down the unwelcome attention on the their heads and had contributed to Sherlock’s death. “Come on - that’s…”

“...ancient history, yes, I know.” Mary finished for him. “But it’s not, though, is it, because he’s…” She finally looked up at him and he quickly put on a fond but exasperated smile. “What are you doing?”

Shit. Here it comes. “Having a wash.”

Mary gave him a cheeky grin. “You’re shaving it off.”

John had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at her. “Well, you hate it.”

Mary’s grin widened like this was the most amusing thing ever. “ _ Sherlock _ hates it.”

Damn her. “Apparently everyone hates it.” Her laugh grated on his nerves. She thought this was just bloody hilarious. 

“Are you going to see him again?” Now she was being unthinkingly cruel. She knew what a wreck he’d been last night. She didn’t know that Sherlock had sent him a text after she had gone to sleep or that he had responded.

**Back at Baker Street. SH**

**FUCK OFF JW**

“No - I’m going to work.” She just wouldn’t stop.

“Oh, and after work, are you going to see him again?” John walked back into the bathroom but she just wouldn’t give it up. “Cor, I dunno - six months of bristly kisses for me, and then His Nibs turns up…” John sighed and applied more shaving foam. He forced himself not to grit his teeth. Keep it light. Breathe.

“I don’t shave for Sherlock Holmes.” He heard Mary giggle again from her perch on the bed. 

“Oh! You should put that on a t-shirt!”

_ Smile. Breathe. Don’t scream. _ “Shut up.” 

She didn’t have a clue, still taking the piss. “Or what?”

He wasn’t sure why he said it. “Or I’ll marry you.” He turned to look and Mary smiled.

\--

Those words haunted him the rest of the day. John realized that he hadn’t actually asked Mary anything. She had taken the ring box from the pocket of his best suit jacket and slid the ring onto her own finger, smiling at him. He thought he had smiled back.

\--

Mycroft stepped through the door into the sitting room just in time to see Sherlock wince as he stepped off the sofa. Used to being ignored, he tapped the end of his umbrella on the floor for a moment just to see how long it would take for Sherlock to get sufficiently annoyed to pay attention. He observed the tension in his brother’s shoulders and sighed. Always one to play the game, he sat in John’s chair to disconcert his brother and hopefully get him to agree to what he had to say so that he would leave.

“I’m not going anywhere until we talk about this.” 

“Apparently.” Sherlock swept past where Mycroft sat and pulled a box off the shelf. He opened it and began to set up the pieces. “Shall we?” Mycroft rolled his eyes. 

“If we must. Though I do prefer Cluedo.”

Sherlock smirked. “You’ll have to bring your own for that, I’m afraid.”

“Of course.” Mycroft sat back and watched as Sherlock set the board up. “I warned you.”

Sherlock didn’t look up, carefully putting all of the pieces into place. “No.”

Mycroft sighed again. “Sherlock, you can’t possibly have thought that he…”

The look that Sherlock shot him made him freeze mid-sentence. It wasn’t a look that he had seen very often on his little brother’s face and never directed at himself.

“I said no, Mycroft. I will discuss your damned terror alert and whatever other inane government machinations you have up your sleeve.” Sherlock turned his attention back to the board. “But we will not be discussing  _ that _ .” Mycroft gave him a tight look. By all reports, Sherlock’s big reveal had been received poorly by Dr. Watson. He stifled the urge to point out how right he had been about that plan. He didn’t think Sherlock would stoop to physical violence, but he wasn’t completely certain. 

“Fine. Your way then.” Mycroft leaned forward and picked up the tweezers to start the round.

\--

_ Why can’t he just go away?  _ Sherlock had played the game, listened to Mycroft’s damn terror alert speech and now they were, he shuddered,  _ reminiscing _ . It was about their parents’ past mistakes but  _ still _ . He flicked a careful eye over Mycroft’s face and came back to the conversation.

“Ghastly. What  _ were _ they thinking of?” Sherlock knew exactly what his parents’ motivations had been as short-sighted and naive as they were.

“ _ Probably _ something about trying to make friends.” Friends. Sherlock didn’t want to think about that.

“Oh yes.  _ Friends. _ Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.” Twist of the knife. Two could play this game.

He studied his brother. “And you don’t? Ever?”

Mycroft shuddered at the thought. “If  _ you _ seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what  _ real _ people are like? I’m living in a world of goldfish.”

“Yes, but I’ve been away for two years.” Surely Mycroft’s life didn’t revolve around keeping him out of trouble? 

“So?”

Perhaps he was wrong. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a ... goldfish.”

Mycroft looked aghast. “Change the subject –  _ now _ .” He stood and walked over to the fireplace. 

“Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre.” He could hear the click of Mrs. Hudson’s shoes ascending the stairs and bit back a grin.

“Speaking of which …” Mycroft grimaced. Sherlock let the broad smile cover his face. Mrs. Hudson’s cheerful concern helped loosen the tight knot in his chest just a bit. At least she had been happy to see him after her initial shock. 

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it! Him – sitting in his chair again!”  She had repeated this at least four or five times, but he just didn’t have it in him to prevent her from doing it.

Plus, the added advantage of making Mycroft uncomfortable was always a plus. “Oh, isn’t it wonderful, Mr Holmes?”

Mycroft looked surprised to be addressed in the conversation. “I can barely contain myself.”

That was a lie. “Oh, he really  _ can _ , you know.”

“He’s secretly pleased to see you underneath all that …” Mrs. Hudson’s glee was contagious and Sherlock winked at her, making her giggle. 

“Sorry – which of us?” Mycroft appeared tired of the entire exchange.

She gave him a smug smile. “ _ Both _ of you.” That would disturb him greatly. Mrs. Hudson took that as her cue to go, having had the last word. Sherlock glanced over and spotted the knitted hat that a client had left earlier that day.

“Let’s play something different.” He needed a change of pace. Something to do, something to think about that wasn’t John.

Exasperation from Mycroft. “Why are we playing games?”

“Well, London’s terror alert has been raised to Critical.” Sherlock jumped up from his chair. “I’m just passing the time. Let’s do deductions.”

\--

John watched the clock and ignored his paperwork. He had made up and changed his mind a dozen times over the course of the day but that last patient, the one where he had made an absolute fool of himself, had clinched it.

He had to see Sherlock. 

Just this once. Just to confirm that this wasn’t some fever dream or drawn out hallucination. And then he could walk away. 

Right.

The door opened and Mary, lovely Mary, walked in and he knew that she could sense his mood from there. “Hello.”

He hummed at her and he knew that she knew.

“You sure?” He wasn’t, he really wasn’t, but he had to do it. Just this once.

“I’m sure.” He tried to smile but it fell flat.

She nodded. “Okay. I’m late for Cath. I’ll see you later.” He couldn’t place the name but shrugged it off. Mary had her own life and valued her independence. He couldn’t know everyone that she came in contact with.

He accepted her kiss and tried smiling again. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

He watched her leave the office, sitting still for just a few more moments before taking action and gathering his things to leave. 

It was time. 

\--

The crime scene was a disaster. Sherlock had hoped that it would alleviate some of the lingering anxiety that he felt from how things had gone with John, but that hadn’t been the case. Molly, poor hopeful Molly, had tried, but she just couldn’t fill that place. He just wanted to do something normal, something that was part of his old life. His life before Moriarty and his damn games. He had often wondered what would have happened if he had never come to Moriarty’s attention. What would have happened if he and John had continued as they were, bickering over breakfast in the morning and running after criminals at night. 

Would John have stayed? Or would he have met someone and moved on, just like he had now? Sherlock shook his head. He had to get John out of his head. He saw how Molly and Lestrade had looked at him. Concern. Pity. 

He had meant what he said to Molly when they left the client’s house. He had wanted to thank her and let her know that he did value her….friendship. That’s what it was, right? He had friends. He had ‘died’ for them, almost in actuality more than once while he was gone. 

Sherlock wasn’t sure why he had invited her to eat with him but he had felt a pang of disappointment when she had declined. He knew that an empty flat was all that waited for him and another disappointing day without seeing John Watson would come to an end.

\--

Darkness.

No. A little bit of filtered light made its way through John’s heavy lids. 

He couldn’t move. 

Panic. He tried again and his fingers twitched. 

His breath came in a sharp burst that burned in his chest. 

Where was he? He searched his mind trying to remember what happened. He was going to see Sherlock.

_ Sherlock. _

He rolled his head to the side and was met with something hard and rough. Branches? Wood? What was going on? He tried to hold on to that thread of consciousness, but lost it as the darkness took him again.

\--

Sherlock had just started picking through his dinner when he heard the door open downstairs. John? 

No. Stupid. It wouldn’t be John. John hates him.

He heard Mrs. Hudson and then an unfamiliar female voice. Client? No, couldn’t be. He wasn’t officially taking cases yet. Only Mycroft’s terrorist business. And Lestrade’s farce of a case. 

There were quick footsteps on the stairs so he stepped out onto the landing just in time to hear Mary,  _ John’s  _ Mary, announced to Mrs. Hudson, “Oh, I’m his fiancee.” Mrs. Hudson made an approving noise and Sherlock’s heart twisted in his chest. Why on earth would Mary be coming to see him?

“Mary?” A strange feeling came over him when he met her eyes. Fear. “What’s wrong?”

She pulled her phone from her pocket and showed him the screen. “Someone sent me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it’s not. It’s a skip code.”

This made Sherlock pause. How on earth would a clinic nurse be that knowledgeable about a skip code? He tried to cover his surprise by concentrating on the message. 

He said out loud, “First word, then every third. Save...John...Watson.” Then the second message. Saint...James...The Less. Oh god. John. “Now!” He let the chips fall to the floor forgotten as he rushed down the stairs. 

He didn’t realize that Mary was even there until she said, “Where are we going?” 

Shut up! He referred to his mental map and tried to ignore her. “St. James the Less. It’s a church. Twenty minutes by car.” Mary had a car. “Did you drive here?”

“Er, yes.” Why was she not panicking? Wasn’t that the usual reaction when someone you love could be in danger?

He paced in the middle of the street trying to think. “It’s too slow. It’s too slow.” A car swerves around him, ignored. 

Mary attempted to get his attention. “Sherlock, what are we waiting for?”

He turned and saw the motorcycle approaching. Perfect. “This.”

\--

The first thing that John saw when he was pulled from the flames was Sherlock’s face. He blinked and blinked to bring it into focus. Sherlock found him. Sherlock always found him. 

“John?” He rolled his head to the side and winced. Ow. Mary looked down at him and he could see the tears on her face. She crouched down beside him and he could feel Sherlock moving away. “Are you alright?” She grasped his hand and he tried to give her a reassuring squeeze. She cautiously helped him sit up. His head throbbed.

“I’m-”, his words broke off in a fit of coughing. He gasped for air and could see someone frantically looking for water or something for him to drink. A leather glove clad hand began to hand him a bottle of water, but it paused and then handed the bottle to Mary instead. She uncapped it and held it out for John to take. He took a few drinks and his throat felt better. Raw, but better.

Sherlock stepped closer, but somehow it still felt like he was holding himself back. “An ambulance is on the way.” He slid his phone into his pocket and stepped a little closer. John looked up at him and something crack in his chest. Sherlock looked  _ nervous _ . He looked like he wasn’t sure of his welcome after he had just dragged John out of a fucking fire. 

And John made him feel that way.

“Sherlock-” John cleared his throat and took another sip of water. 

“It should be here momentarily. The shift change was an hour ago so the driver should be fresh and well rested.”

John cleared his throat again. “Sherlock, I-”

Sherlock paced a step or two away and then paced back, holding his phone in his hand. “Traffic patterns are favorable and-”

“Sherlock!” John coughed at the effort of raising his voice but it had the intended effect of stopping Sherlock’s ramble. “I’m fine, Sherlock. I’m fine.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “The effects of smoke on the lungs of an healthy male are-”

“I’m fine.” John drank deeply from the bottle and tried to stand. That proved to be a mistake. He sat down heavily on the ground and breathed through the nausea that his pounding head and the remains of whatever he had been drugged with had caused. “Alright. Maybe I need to take it easy.”

Mary kept a firm grip on his hand, as if he would be taken from her. “You are not fine, John. You almost burned to death!”

“But I didn’t, did I? Hmm?” He squeezed her hand again. Sherlock was still hovering. “Sherlock, um, what you did, um, I just want to say, well, thank you.”

Sherlock smiled his small crooked smile. His real smile. John felt his chest clench again. God it was so good to see him. 

“John?” John jerked his eyes away from Sherlock to look at Mary. “The ambulance is here.” Mary was giving him an odd look that he couldn’t quite read. He looked past where Sherlock stood and the paramedics were heading towards them with a gurney. 

“There’s my ride, I see.” Sherlock quirked another smile at him and stepped out of the way to make room. John lost sight of him in the fuss of oxygen masks and questions and by the time he thought to look again, Sherlock was gone.

\--

Sherlock walked through the door of the flat and managed to refrain from slamming the door. The cab ride had not done anything to quell the rage he felt after seeing John Watson placed in the back of an ambulance. He had not gone through hell only to have John  _ die _ on his watch. 

He peeled his gloves off with less care than he should have. His hands stung from the fire even though they had been mostly protected by the leather. The gloves were a complete loss. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the hook along with his scarf. The wool scratched at the reddened skin on his palms and he flinched. 

He sighed and walked to the refrigerator to see if the ice packs that used to be a standard around 221B still existed. He produced one from the freezer and wrapped it in a tea towel. He needed to think, and he finally had his sofa back. Kicking off his shoes, Sherlock laid back and assumed his tried and true thinking pose with the wrapped pack caught between his palms. 

John was a target. He had been drugged and then buried in a bonfire. Why? He couldn’t help but feel guilty. It had to be someone trying to get his attention. Moriarty. Sherlock’s brow furrowed. No. Moriarty was dead. 

If the sole purpose was to get his attention, why did they text Mary? Surely she would have no reason to contact her fiance’s friend. No. Colleague. No. Acquaintance. Is that what they were now? John had thanked him. What did it mean? He didn’t deserve thanks, didn’t need it. He would do more, had done much more, than pull John from a fire. He was getting distracted. 

The ice pack wasn’t cold anymore so he dropped it and the tea towel onto the coffee table. Sherlock flexed his fingers to check for tenderness. Still sore, but better. No permanent damage. He snorted. The permanent damage was written all over his back. 

He sat up and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Definitely sore. He stood and walked to his room to change into pajamas. He might as well pretend to sleep. 

_ Do you remember sleep? _

Sherlock shook his head. No. He pulled off his smoky clothes and wrapped himself in soft cotton and the silky slide of his dressing gown. He glanced at the bed but knew that only fear and remembered pain waited for him there. 

He walked back out to the sitting room and faced the photos pinned to the wall. If he couldn’t sleep there was always the Work.

\--

Hours later, John was finally able to go home to his own bed. He hated having to go to A&E, but Mary wouldn’t take no for an answer. The oxygen made him feel better but that could also have been the drugs flushing out of his system. Mary stirred next to him and he held still so that she wouldn’t wake. He needed to think. 

Seeing Sherlock again, seeing that look on his face. John had never seen Sherlock like that before. It had been almost two years but he could remember every expression, every quirk of his mouth. What did that say about him?

‘Obsessive’ was what his therapist had deemed him. Months after Sherlock had ‘died’. Just thinking that word still made his heart race. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Mary stirred again and he looked at her. She was lovely in the low light filtering through the curtains. He loved her. So much.

He looked at the clock. 2 AM. It was the right time to be thinking these thoughts. He had always wondered what would have happened it he had told Sherlock how he felt back then. That he had been hopelessly attracted to him from the start and that attraction had grown into love over the year and a half that they had known each other. He glanced at Mary again. He had told her. Told her that he had been in love with his best friend and it had almost killed him when he dove off that building. 

And then he had told her just yesterday that he never wanted to see the man again. 

John stared at the ceiling as if it held the answer to anything. Everything. He needed to see Sherlock again. He needed to see if they could be friends. Friends. Of course. He was engaged to Mary. He loved Mary. 

The ceiling didn’t know a damn thing.

\--

Sherlock felt a pang of guilt for shoving Mummy and Dad out the door but he didn’t want John to leave. He had been terrified that Mummy would actually talk to John and she was too unpredictable. Or too shrewd. 

He could never tell.

“Sorry about that.” John was standing near the window and Sherlock took a moment to look him over for any lasting effects from last night.

John gave him a small smile. “No, it’s fine. Clients?”

Sherlock hesitated. This was going to bring up things that he didn’t want to talk about. Not yet. Not when John finally was able to be in his presence without causing him bodily harm. “Just my parents.”

“Your parents?” John’s tone was a bit incredulous.

“In town for a few days.”

“ _ Your _ parents?”

“Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of  _ ‘Les Mis’. _ Tried to talk  _ me _ into doing it.” As if that was going to happen. Maybe John would drop it.

“Those were your parents?” John walked over to the window and looked down at them as they left. Sherlock hoped they were leaving. The last thing he needed was for Mummy to become  _ pals _ with Mrs. Hudson. 

“Yes.” He didn’t understand why John was finding this so hard to believe.

“Well... That is not what I…” John peeked out the window again and Sherlock had to suppress an eyeroll. 

“What?”

“I-I mean they’re just...so…”  _ Spit it out, John. Surprisingly normal to have such a selfish prick of a son? _ “...ordinary.” Oh.

Sherlock smiled to cover how much that observation meant to him. “It’s a cross I have to bear.”

“Did  _ they _ know, too?” Damn. This was what he wanted to avoid. He made a noncommittal noise. “That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek.”

“Maybe.”

“Ah! So  _ that’s _ why they weren’t at the funeral.”

Sherlock winced. “Sorry. Sorry  _ again _ .” John hummed at him like he didn’t believe him. Sherlock doesn’t want him to leave. Not like this. “Sorry.”

He heard the deep breath that John took before he met his eyes. Sherlock could tell from that split second that John was going to stay.

He was going to stay.

\--

John hadn’t felt such a whirlwind of emotion for over a year and a half. He was standing off to the side watching Sherlock explain about the bomb to the police just like he’d stood hundreds of time but this time, this time it was different. Sherlock was different. He was  more subdued somehow, despite the trick he had just pulled. 

John was furious. Of course he was. He had truly believed that they were going to die. That all of his sister’s predictions were about to come true in spectacular fashion. He had meant what he said. Every word. 

He watched Sherlock, and realized that he did forgive him. Well, enough to give this, give their friendship another try. Even though he wondered if that was a mistake. Because he couldn’t forget the urge that followed the anger over the trick. The sheer relief had overtaken the need to punch, to hurt and he had almost crossed those few steps and… 

What? What would he have done? 

John shook his head. He couldn’t think like that. This was  _ Sherlock _ , for god’s sake. Oh and he was  _ engaged _ . Mary. He needed to call Mary as soon as they got above ground.

He looked over at Sherlock again and was met with raised eyebrows. Oh. He’d been staring. Sherlock tilted his head.  _ All right? _ John nodded. Sherlock gave a polite smile to the officer and strode toward where John waited. 

“Ready?” Sherlock busied himself by pulling his gloves out of his pocket and putting them on, but not before John could see the remaining redness on his palms. He grabbed Sherlock’s hand without thinking.

“Your hands. I didn’t-”

Sherlock tugged his hand away. “I’m fine. Just a little singed. Nothing to worry about.” He finished pulling on his gloves. “Mrs. Hudson has been asking about you. Incessantly.”

“She has?” John hadn’t seen her since, well, since everything had changed. The world had realigned itself and Sherlock Holmes was alive.

“Oh, yes.” Sherlock straightened his scarf and buttoned his coat. “There is a press conference,” he rolled his eyes, “tomorrow afternoon to cover my miraculous resurrection.” He glanced at John, noting the tightening of his mouth. “It would be,” he looked away, “much appreciated if you attended it with me.” John gaped at him and Sherlock rushed on in a spill of words. “If you don’t mind. It will save the press the trouble of hunting you down. I  _ am _ sorry for that. I’m surprised they haven’t hounded you out of house and home already. Mrs. Hudson has had to shoo them away all week.” 

He took a breath and John jumped in. “Sure.”

Sherlock gave him a look that was part surprise and part relief before smoothing out to a small half smile. “We could do a thing. A drinks thing.”

“A drinks thing?” John wasn’t following.

They had finally reached the tube station and the noise and bustle made it hard to hear. “A drinks thing to, uh, celebrate your engagement. I’m assuming she said yes?”

John nodded but that really wasn’t the case. It still rankled him a bit that he hadn’t actually asked. It just kind of happened. Things always just happened to him. “She did. Are you sure? I mean, I know you don’t like parties. Or people.”

“Of, course.” Sherlock turned to him, walking backwards for a few steps. “Congratulations, by the way.” He turned back around without seeing John’s astonishment at the words. 

“What time?” They had exited the station, so things weren’t quite so noisy. Sherlock made an inquisitive noise. “What time tomorrow?” 

“The conference is scheduled for five, so four?” Sherlock walked to the edge of the pavement and raised an arm for a cab. “I’ll text the relevant people and let them know.”

“Alright?” John felt more confused by the second. A cab pulled up and Sherlock started to get in. “I’ll just see you tomorrow, then?”

“Of course, John. Tomorrow.” Sherlock was gone.

\--

Small talk was going to be the death of him. Sherlock smiled politely. Sipped his champagne. Winked. People liked it when he winked, he still didn’t understand why. The press conference was long over, thank god, but  _ people _ were  _ still _ here. Mary was still here. 

May. They were getting married in May. He had caught John’s tight look at the date and the jab at the interruption to the proposal. That was interesting. Mary had no qualms about wearing the ring so in her mind it was done, especially since she was discussing dates. May. Six months. 

Molly and her fiance were gone. They had to bow out early because Ted, Tony,  _ Tom _ had to go to work. Lestrade was still here, steadily drinking. He’d caught Greg’s longing glance that had been sent Molly’s way. Pathetic. Why hadn’t he just said something?

That thought hit a little bit too close to home. Sherlock took another drink of the scotch that had replaced the champagne and grimaced. He was one to talk. 

Mary was chatting with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, but John was standing by the window overlooking the street, glass in hand. Sherlock moved to stand next to him. Close but not too close. “Thank you.”

John jerked, startled. “Thank you? For what?”

“The press conference. I know that can’t have been easy.” John stared at him. He seemed to be doing that a lot. “The story I gave them wasn't the whole truth.” Sherlock took a sip of his drink and stared out the window. “I can tell you the whole story sometime. If you’d like.”

He was nervous. The last time he’d tried to explain anything to John he’d gotten a head butt to the face.  But this time, John just nodded in agreement. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Relief. This felt...good. Talking to John. It was like it was just the two of them again.

“John?” Oh, right. Mary. John turned to look at her. “We’ll need to go soon. I have that thing with Cath?”

John cleared his throat. “Right.” He set his glass down on the table. “Well, I suppose that’s it, then? You’re, um, alive again?”

Sherlock nodded, but didn’t elaborate. He was a fool. 

“Right,” John repeated. “Good.” He looked around for his coat and spotted it hanging on the hook where it had always hung. “Mary, you ready to go, love?” Sherlock’s face twisted at the endearment but no one saw. He should probably stop drinking now. It was making him sloppy.

“Sure.” Mary gave Mrs. Hudson a kiss on the cheek and patted Lestrade’s shoulder. “It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Of course, dear.” Mrs. Hudson gave John a hug. “John, dear, come by anytime.”

“Yes. We’ll come for tea. Soon.” John glanced at Sherlock. “Well, thanks for this, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock turned around, smile plastered on his face. “Of course. See you soon.” He looked at Mary. “Both of you.” She beamed at him and he felt sick. Quiet. He needed quiet. It must have shone on his face, damn whisky, because Mrs. Hudson put a concerned hand on his arm. 

“Are you quite alright, dear?” She kept her voice low and it dripped with pity. Hateful.

Sherlock shook his head. “I think it’s the alcohol. I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense. Greg and I will get out of your way so that you can rest.” She murmured something to Lestrade and he rose unsteadily. “Goodnight, Sherlock.”

He nodded and started to take another drink from his glass, but put it down instead. Right next to John’s. He heard the door click and footsteps heading down the stairs. Sherlock wanted to fling both of the glasses against the wall but resisted, breathing deeply. It wasn’t anger. He had no one to be angry at but himself. 

This was misery. And he deserved every second of it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a day late but here you go!
> 
> Again, repeating that Mary is NOT GOOD in this fic. If not your thing, you'll want to click out now.

Chapter 2

Mary waited until John had left for Baker Street before she dug the second mobile out of the bottom of her bag. Except for a scratch, it was identical to her regular mobile just in case John walked in while she was using it. 

It made it so easy to fool Sherlock Holmes.

And while that thought made her smile, caution was key. The man was even more observant than she had prepared for. It was the main reason why she had decided to have John kidnapped. 

John’s kidnapping and subsequent rescue had actually served a dual purpose. It had allowed her to put Sherlock through his paces while providing a suitably dangerous situation to cement their reconciliation. She had been pulling her hair out over how stubborn John was being until the perfect solution had come to her. 

The skip code was simplistic at best, but it worked. Mary hadn’t missed the way that Sherlock had looked at her when she had said the words ‘skip code’. She would have to be more careful in the future. Right now, however, he was distracted by a case that involved something to do with an email that he had received. She hadn’t paid much attention to the details.

What was important was the fact that John was working with Sherlock again. It was like a switch had been flipped. He would come home late at night, full of adrenaline- 

Definitely an unexpected bonus.

The mobile in her hand held everything that would either free her or destroy her. It was a direct tie to the man that held her past and future in his hands. Magnussen.

He had approached her not long after James Moriarty had decided to off himself on a rooftop. Magnussen had been skeptical of Sherlock Holmes’ death, and for good reason. Key players had been assassinated and the only thing tying them together was Holmes. It had been shockingly simple to figure out.

And then Magnussen had tracked her down and drove a hard bargain. Use her contacts to prove that Sherlock Holmes was alive and put herself in the path of John Watson to ensure her placement for the resurrection. That way Magnussen would have a direct tie to Mycroft Holmes. If Holmes got himself killed while on what should have been a suicide mission, she was free to go with her prize.

Magnussen would wipe her slate clean in a way that even he would be unable to find her. It had been too tempting an offer to refuse. So she worked her network to confirm that it was indeed Sherlock cutting a swath through Moriarty’s old guard. She offered a reward for photographic evidence and received it within twenty-four hours. For someone that was supposed to be dead, he wasn’t quite as careful as he should be.

And he looked like shit.

She could see the hollows under his eyes from lack of sleep and general lack of care. He was hyper-focused on his task, which made him deadly, but it also made him careless. Mary had been able to track him for months, all the while getting to know John. She was good at multitasking.

It had taken weeks to get him to come out of his shell. He had finally agreed to a coffee date, and then dinner. And then dinner at her place. John moved in with her after dating for two months and that had been interesting. The man still suffered from nightmares and woke up screaming Sherlock’s name regularly. 

She played the concerned girlfriend while he confessed things to her that he hadn’t even been able to tell his therapist. He’d said that he had been in love with that bastard. It wasn’t surprising. John’s hero worship could have been seen from space, and it was only natural that he thought he felt that way. Romanticizing someone that you had lost was a coping method. 

Only Sherlock wasn’t dead. 

Mary watched Sherlock grow more ragged and less like the character that John painted on his blog and decided to expedite things. Either way, she would win. A call placed to the Baron and his minions descended on the ratty flat where Sherlock had set up base camp to try and infiltrate the very same group. She knew what she was setting him up for. The Baron was vicious and known for his penchant for torture. In the shape Sherlock was in, he would most likely die and be out of her hair for good. She would be able to disappear. 

But Mary hadn’t counted on Mycroft Holmes.

It was ridiculous, really, that she hadn’t assumed that Mycroft would do anything to rescue his baby brother, but she didn’t think that he would wade in and drag him out personally. She had barely had time to encourage John to make the reservation at The Landmark. She had suggested a nice night out, fully aware of the engagement ring that he had purchased, and it was perfect. She couldn’t be sure that Sherlock would grace them with his presence that night, but either way he would be playing into her hands. She had John.

The mobile buzzed in her hand again.

**I eagerly await your report, poppet.**

Magnussen had offered her something that he knew she couldn’t refuse, but she still hated the man. She knew better than to meet a predator like him without witnesses. He wanted her to get something on Sherlock and it wasn’t going very well. Sherlock had a past that involved drugs, but it was locked up tight. Magnussen was making her work for it. She knew damn well that he could find out whatever he wanted with the snap of his fingers, but the sadistic bastard had too much on her. 

But would he keep his word? She had her doubts.

Mary chewed her bottom lip while she pondered her response. She was either going to have to trigger Sherlock into a relapse or fake it. She had access to the necessary equipment but she was afraid it wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny. Or the wrath of Mycroft Holmes if she was caught. So, what to do? She started typing.

**Patience is a virtue.**

\--

“How is...Mary?” Sherlock cursed himself for the hesitation but he was determined to play the good friend. The one who was happy for his former flatmate to have found someone- No. Not someone else. John had never been  _ his _ . 

And never would be.

“Hmm?” John looked up from the laptop screen where he was searching Sherlock’s inbox. “Oh, sorry. She’s fine. Said she was going to meet Cath for dinner or a film or something tonight.”

Sherlock brightened at the news. If Mary was busy that meant that John would stay longer. He watched John poke at the keys. “Hungry?”

“Sure. Take-away or did you want to go out?” Sherlock smiled at the easy way that John had come back into his life. After the bonfire, they had fallen right back into their old ways. Mostly. There was still a certain stiffness at times and the silences weren’t quite as companionable as they once were. It was especially trying when John would leave to go home to his flat with Mary at the end of the night, leaving Sherlock alone with his own thoughts.

Sherlock pulled open the desk drawer and tossed a few menus on the keyboard. “You choose.”

John shuffled through them and handed the one for the Chinese down the street back to Sherlock, turning back to the laptop screen. Sherlock studied the menu for a moment before looking back at John. He cleared his throat. “Um, what would you-”

John looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Since when have I ever had to tell you?” He gave Sherlock a small smile. “Go on, then.” 

Sherlock looked him up and down for a moment. Without looking at the menu, he proclaimed, “Sesame chicken and an order of dumplings, steamed not fried.” He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and started to dial. They had just answered when he heard John’s voice behind him, low and unaccountably fond.

“Brilliant.”

\--

Mary tapped a foot impatiently as she scanned the cafe. She was running out of time, and the person who was definitely not ‘Cath’ was late. It was the only concession that Magnussen had allowed, and she was convinced it was simply because he thought that meetings in public were beneath him. He allowed all of their in person communication to be conducted through his PA, and while they weren’t exactly ‘friends’ per se but commiserating disgruntled employees, Mary much preferred Janine’s company. 

Finally she spotted Janine’s dark hair outside the window, and waited impatiently while she placed her order and made her way to the table. Janine was wearing sunglasses for some indeterminable reason and Mary frowned. What was she thinking? Things like that made people notice, made them remember. 

Janine sat and put her cup on the table before carefully hanging her bag on the chair. She slumped in the chair and wrapped both hands around the mug, silent for the time being. Mary’s eyebrows rose and the angry words died in her throat. “What happened?”

Janine lifted her head and took off the glasses. Mary couldn’t help the gasp that escaped. “This happened. The bloody bastard.” Janine had one hell of a black eye and the eye itself was bloodshot, appearing extremely painful. She put the glasses on the table but leaned forward to cover the injury with her hair. It wouldn’t do to attract the wrong sort of attention. 

“Why?” The fact that Mary could just ask that question without surprise spoke volumes. She knew exactly what had happened.  _ Magnussen and his damn games _ .

Janine shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Maybe his latte wasn’t quite to his liking. Who the hell cares?” She automatically started to brush her hair back and winced as she touched her face, growling in frustration. “Any ideas on how I can quit and not die?”

Mary shook her head. “None at the moment.” She gave Janine a wry grin. “You could always take out a hit.”

“And who would pay for that?” Janine rolled her eyes and grimaced again. 

“Anyone that knows him might offer to do it for free,” Mary mused. She caught the look that Janine was giving her. “Oh no. Not a chance. I don’t do that anymore.”

“I know. Deal with the devil and all that.” Janine reached into her bag and pulled out a file. “Speaking of which, himself sent this for you.” She slid it across the table. “A reminder, he called it.”

Mary lifted the top flap of the folder just enough to see the Cyrillic writing inside. She closed it and pushed it back toward Janine. “No. Just no.”

“He wanted you to see it. He was very specific.” Janine gave Mary a resigned look. “He’ll ask. Please?”

Mary looked at Janine’s bruised face and sighed. She possessed the coldness necessary for an assassin but she somehow still had a soft spot for Janine. Maybe they were closer to being friends than she thought. She wouldn’t have to worry about her after the deal was done with Magnussen anyway, might as well band together for the moment. “Fine.” She reached for the folder and opened it carefully. 

There were no pictures this time, just document after document. She scanned them quickly before putting them away. There was little chance that someone would glance over and be able to read them but she didn’t want to take any chances. The top page was a list. A list of her dirty laundry.

Serbia. Ukraine. Belarus. It was after the CIA, during her most active freelancing period. Just before she had caught the attention of James Moriarty. She had done a few jobs for him, the last one in London. The first time Mary had seen John Watson, it had been through a rifle scope at a pool. She had parted ways with Moriarty shortly after that, and decided to vanish into obscurity. From the documents contained in this simple folder, she hadn’t run far enough. 

She had known that Magnussen had pull, but this was something else. It was unnatural how he was able to find out anything about anyone. She slid the folder toward Janine. “Okay. I looked. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” Janine put the folder back in her bag. “What do you have for me?” Mary raised her left hand and waggled her fingers, showing off the engagement ring. Janine tipped her mug toward her as if it were a champagne glass. “Congratulations. All going to plan then?”

Mary sighed. It  _ was _ all going to plan. Her plan. Get close to John and wait for Sherlock to either come back or die already. Of course, Sherlock came back so now she had to keep the channel open for Magnussen to get to Mycroft. And there was no better way to keep Sherlock off her scent than a distraction. That’s all the wedding was, after all. One huge distraction. She sipped her tea.

“How do you feel about being a bridesmaid?”

\--

John followed Sherlock through the door at Baker Street, heart pounding and pulse racing. They had just wrapped up a case involving a rooftop chase and the oddly arousing sight of Sherlock wielding a sword. John shook his head at the thought. He had to stop doing thinking of him like that. He had successfully been able to shove down everything that he had felt before and after Sherlock had flung himself off Bart’s, but it came rushing back every now and then. 

John looked at Sherlock and grinned. “Poison darts and that great big bastard trying to kill us. Can’t say I ever saw that one coming.”

Sherlock chuckled and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes with a smile. He was flushed, a delicate pink rising from the straining buttons of his shirt and up his long throat. John tore his eyes away and pulled his jacket closer around himself. “I’d better go.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and for a split second John caught a glimpse of something on his face. Disappointment. Then it was gone, and Sherlock was back to his usual contained self. “Of course. You need to get back to Mary.” He walked to the front door and opened it, holding it for John to go. “I’ll text you tomorrow after I hear from Lestrade.”

Startled by the abruptness, John just nodded and walked out the door. He turned to look at Sherlock and was struck again by how he looked backlit with the hallway lights. “Um. Alright then. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, John.”

John turned and looked up and down the empty street. It was late and it was going to be murder to find a cab. He had a fleeting thought of going back in and just asking if he could stay at Baker Street for the night, but he needed to go home. He needed to keep his distance from Sherlock, as much as was possible, to make sure that everything was staying put where it needed to be. 

He started walking toward a pub that he used to frequent when he lived here. Might as well grab a pint and then call for a cab. In fact, a pint sounded better and better the more he thought about it. John didn’t see it as avoiding going home, not at all, he just wanted to relax a little bit before making the half hour ride across town. Nothing more.

\--

Sherlock looked at the closed door. He had to get better at letting John go without pushing him away. He knew from the look on John’s face that he had been abrupt and rude, but it was either force John out the door or invite him up and prolong the inevitable.

He sighed and plodded up the steps toward the flat, shrugging off his coat as he went. 

Sherlock hung it up on the hook and pulled out his mobile. Something had been bothering him; he found himself torn between wanting to know and keeping John’s trust. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t treat Mary like he had John’s previous potential love interests. She made John happy and that’s all he had ever wanted. It was all he would ever get.

But there was something about John’s kidnapping and the bonfire that just didn’t make sense. They had all assumed that it was someone trying to send Sherlock a message but if that were true, why had Mary received the texts? And how did a nurse know about skip codes?

He supposed that she could just be interested in things like that, just like John’s insistence on those dreadful crime novels, but it didn’t sit quite right with him. He flipped his mobile over and over in his hands, chewing on his lip indecisively. He tapped out a text before he could change his mind.

**Background information needed on M. Morstan. SH**

Despite the hour, a reply arrived within moments.

**Are you sure? MH**

**Yes. SH**

Sherlock was sure but he knew that if John found out, he would be very, very angry.

**If you can manage to be discreet. SH**

**Very well. MH**

Sherlock locked his mobile and looked at the crime wall. He sighed and started to remove the information relevant to their latest case. It had been brilliant at the time, but now he just felt tired and flat. The usual post-case rush faded when he urged John out the door and back to his real life. 

The loneliness start to seep in. It left him cold. 

\--

Two pints in and John wasn’t worried about getting home anymore. He was too busy being lost in his own thoughts, Sherlock at the forefront. Their life before had been fantastic. It had been everything he had ever wanted. He had stopped dating because it just hadn’t been worth it anymore and just settled for a quick shag here and there. 

Plus, it didn’t help that he was,  _ had been _ , hopelessly attracted to Sherlock. There were times when he felt that it might have been mutual, but he had been too afraid to make a move. Too afraid of rejection and the end to the life that they led. Then Sherlock had died.

John had been devastated. It had taken him a long, long time to come to grips with why he felt that way. Sherlock had been his friend, his best friend, but he had grieved like he had lost a part of himself. Like a lover or a spouse. He had confessed to Mary that he thought that he had been in love with Sherlock there at the end and had regretted never doing anything about it. He had thought that she might be wary of Sherlock for that reason but she had encouraged him to go and see him. She had even insisted that he go on cases again. She said she understood. They never talked about what he had said and John was glad for it. 

He ordered another pint and was lost again.

\--

Mary heard the keys in the door and knew that John had been drinking by how long it took him to actually unlock it. She tucked away her secret mobile and waited for him to make his way upstairs. “John?”

He walked through the door of their bedroom, just a slight sway to his walk. So, a little tipsy but not overly drunk. “Hello, you.” The smile he gave her made her heart speed up. She wasn’t in love with him, but he was a decent man and sexy as hell. And right now he  _ wanted _ her.

“Been out with Sherlock?” She knew he had been. He always made sure to tell her what he was doing. It was appreciated, but she really didn’t care what he did as long as it didn’t interfere with her plan. 

He toed off his shoes and started unbuttoning his shirt. “It was brilliant case. Sherlock was on fire. He even got to do a bit of sword fighting.” There was a gleam in his eye as he talked about it. This was going to be good. The past few weeks had taught her that post-case sex was a little on the edge of rough and she loved it. But she also knew that she had to let John make the first move.

“He what?” She laughed a little in disbelief, although nothing they did surprised her. “Sword fighting, really?” John nodded and crawled onto the bed, shirtless and jeans gaping. He kissed her, hard with a bit of teeth.

“Yeah, he did. It was fantastic.” He kissed down her neck and plucked at her pajama top. Mary quickly pulled it off and there was no more talking after that.

\--

Afterward, Mary curled up against him and wondered how far she would have to go to complete this mission. Would marriage be enough? She listened to his heart beat in his chest as his breathing evened out in sleep. 

The question that was constant in the back of her mind was, would Magnussen keep his end of the bargain? The man was slimy and she wondered more and more if this whole thing had been a huge mistake. She didn’t see what choice she had at the time but after seeing what he did to Janine, it made her doubt. And she never doubted her decisions. She needed to have a backup plan in case this all went to hell. 

But what?

\--

John heard the shower turn on and blinked at the light streaming through the curtains. His mouth was dry and he had the beginnings of a mild headache but otherwise felt fine. He stretched, smiling at the ache of sore muscles resulting from a very nice shag. He stared at the ceiling and went over the details of the previous day. He had taken notes, but he liked to run through the case in his mind before he decided how he wanted to write it up.

He smiled to himself, remembering how it had felt to stand side by side with Sherlock again, the other man wielding a sword of all things. How his body had moved, graceful and powerful all at once. Sherlock looked thin and lanky, but that was an illusion. John knew for a fact that he was stronger than he looked and could handle himself in a fight. 

Yesterday had been a bit different than he remembered. Sherlock had been quiet recently, but yesterday it was as if he forgot John was even there while they were tracking the suspect. There were no whispered commands, or anything else. It was like Sherlock melted into the shadows, and John was just following along in his wake. 

And after they were done, Sherlock had dismissed him and shoved him out the door. 

That brought John to his visit to the pub and what he had pondered while he was there. Sherlock. Always Sherlock. His thoughts had still been on Sherlock when he had come home to Mary. He had crawled in bed with her and she had welcomed him with open arms. It had been fast and rough and brilliant. 

But now he felt shame creeping along the edges of his thoughts. He had come back home, his head full of Sherlock, and- He sucked in a breath, panic blooming in his chest. Of course, at that moment, the shower turned off. Mary. He needed to get it together before she saw him. He rolled over to face the wall and tried to even out his breathing. In, out. In, out. Better.

“John?” The door opened and Mary walked into the bedroom. “You awake, love?”

John cleared his throat, willing himself to sound normal. “Yeah. I’m up.” He rolled onto his back and gave her a quick smile. “Morning.”

She grinned at him. “Good morning to you.” She rummaged through the drawers on her side of the dresser and started to get dressed. 

“You going out?” John couldn’t remember if she’d said anything about it or if he was supposed to know. He felt out of sorts after his bit of panic. “What time is it?”

“Half nine, sleepyhead.” Mary chuckled. “I’ve already been to the gym and now I’m off to meet Janine for brunch. You remember Janine?”

John vaguely remembers the name. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Did you ask him yet?” Mary looked at him expectantly, but John couldn’t figure out what she was on about.

“Ask who, what?” She rolled her eyes.

“Ask Sherlock to be your best man?” Oh. That. She had been trying to get him to do that for a week. They had discussed it and he wanted Sherlock to stand up with him more than anything, but John still didn’t feel like he could ask him. Not yet.

“Not yet. Just haven’t had an opportunity to yet.” Lie, lie, lie. He’d had plenty of time to do it and had almost done it over dinner last night but the words had hung up in his throat.

Mary huffed at him. “Fine. How about this? Why don’t we have Janine and Sherlock over for dinner and you can ask him then?” She grinned as if this were a brilliant idea. “I think it’d be good for them to meet, don’t you think?” Mary leaned on the bed to kiss his cheek. “You never know, they might hit it off.”

“Um.” John didn’t know how to respond to that. He was fairly certain that Sherlock was gay but they’d never actually had that discussion. It was just a feeling he had. He was definitely off his game because all he said was, “Sure. When?”

“How about tonight? Seven or so? I’ll make that chicken that you told me he likes.” John nodded and she beamed at him. “Okay, I’m off. Text me and let me know what he says. Bye!”

She gave him a wave and John flopped back down on the bed. This was going to be a disaster.

\--

“Dinner?” Sherlock looked at John over the file folder he had swiped from Greg’s desk. “At your flat?”

“Yes, dinner. Mary wants to have you and her friend Janine over for dinner tonight.” John plucked the file folder and returned it to the desktop, ignoring the glare of indignation. “Will you come?”

“John, I-” Sherlock wouldn’t meet his eyes and John knew he had him.

“Please, Sherlock. For me?” 

Sherlock sighed. “I don’t know why you insist that I be ‘sociable’ but yes, I will come. What time?”

John grinned at him. “Great! Be there at seven. You have the address?” Sherlock nodded. Of course he had the address, even though he had never set foot in the place. “You really will come?” John wasn’t sure why he had to make sure. He wanted Sherlock to be there, wanted him to like Mary so that they could continue working together and not have anything change.

“Of course, John. I said I would.” Sherlock gave him what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it was the ghastly too bright smile that he broke out for people he was trying to coerce information out of. John grimaced and Sherlock rolled his eyes, face falling into a scowl. “I’ll be there. Now can we finish this? Where is Lestrade?”

“He’ll be back in a minute, you impatient git. Leave that alone!”

\--

“You want me to meet Sherlock Holmes?” Janine set her fork down with a clink. “Are you insane?”

“Probably.” Mary took a sip of her coffee. “It’s just dinner. It’s not like I’m asking you to seduce him or something.”

Janine looked thoughtful at that. “Well, I-”

“No.” Mary shook her head. “No. You need to meet him so that it’s not strange that we’re seen together. I’m tired of making up stories every time I need to leave the flat.” 

“You’re no fun.” Janine’s eye had healed nicely and it was hardly noticeable now. “He is awfully pretty.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “It’d only be worth it if you taped his mouth shut. Although, he does have a nice voice…” she broke off into giggles. “Not worth your time. He’s an arsehole that I have to make nice with to get to Big Brother.” She sobered, the smile disappearing. “Keep that in mind.”

Janine nodded and looked at her hands. “Of course.”

“And you might want to make sure that is covered up.” Mary gestured toward her eye. “I can barely see it but I’m not  _ him _ . You don’t want him to deduce anything.” 

“Alright.” Janine moved her food around on her plate, no longer hungry. “What time?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll be there.”

\--

Mycroft had given the order to do a full background check on Mary Morstan, but had expected to find nothing. It had been something that he had thought to do anyway, but it hadn’t seemed urgent, and had faded into the background of bringing Sherlock back to life. Which is why he couldn’t believe what he was given at first.

Mary Morstan didn’t exist until five years ago.

He flipped through the folder one more time and pressed the button on his desk. Anthea opened the door and he looked up from the paperwork. “Run it again.”

“Sir?”

“This doesn’t make sense. Run it again and go deeper.”

“Of course.” 

She closed the door and left him to his thoughts. Mycroft steepled his hands and considered the possibility that they had all missed something that had been right under their noses the entire time. Blinded by sentiment, both of them. 

He glanced at his mobile and considered alerting Sherlock. He shook his head. There was no reason to stir that up until he had some concrete facts. Facts he could deal with. Sherlock’s sentiment and overprotectiveness of John Watson he did not want to touch until he had all of the information. 

A closer watch would suffice over the next few days. 

\--

Sherlock paced in front of the building where he was supposed to be having a lovely dinner with John, his fiancee and her friend. He didn’t  _ want _ to have a lovely dinner. He’d rather go to the theatre with his parents than suffer through this evening. 

Well, almost.

But he had promised John.

So he would be  _ nice _ . Or at least his version of nice. He would not disappoint John, and he would make sure that John was  _ happy _ . That was the whole point, wasn’t it? He would do anything to give John what he wanted. And what John wanted was Mary and the boring domesticity that she provided. Dinners with friends and small talk. He would do it for John. Sherlock squared his shoulders and had just turned toward the front of the building when a voice stopped him.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I presume.” She was tall with dark hair and dark eyes. She smirked and looked him up and down. “Very nice.”

Sherlock didn’t quite know what to make of this strange woman. “Excuse me?”

She gave him a bright smile and stuck out a hand for him to shake. “Sorry! I’m Janine, Mary’s friend. We’re having dinner together.” He shook her hand out of reflex, and she held onto it for a moment longer than was comfortable. He stepped back out of her reach and she gave him a grin. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sherl.”

He shuddered at the nickname. He opened his mouth to tear her to shreds but stopped himself. Sherlock closed his eyes and took a calming breath. This was for John. Smile. “It’s my pleasure, Janine.” 

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing lots of each other.” She smoothed her hair behind her ear and looked him up and down again. She laid a presumptuous hand on his arm and he resisted the urge to jerk away. He wanted to leave, just hail a cab and go home. 

_ Into battle. For John _ . 

He moved toward the door and took himself out of her reach. He opened it and waved her in. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” she said. “I think we shall.”

Sherlock gritted his teeth and followed her up the stairs.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner party and a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for wait! I will do my best to stick to Tuesday updates but sometimes it just doesn't happen.

Chapter 3

The doorbell rang and John moved through the sitting room to answer it. He hoped it was Sherlock because he didn’t really know Janine other than what Mary had told him. The thought of making small talk with her made him uncomfortable. 

He opened the door and was dumbfounded to find Sherlock and Janine standing there. Janine was giggling at something that Sherlock had said and he was smiling at her with his crooked grin. The crooked grin that usually only made an appearance for John or, possibly, Mrs. Hudson. John caught Sherlock’s eyes and the grin fell away. “John.”

John plastered a smile on his face. “Hello, you two! I see you’ve already met. Come in, come in.” He was probably overdoing it but he had to find his feet somehow. What was wrong with him? 

Sherlock and Janine brushed by him and John couldn’t help but notice how good they looked together. What if Sherlock decided to ask her out? He shook his head. He just couldn’t imagine Sherlock doing that with anyone.

Janine gave John a peck on the cheek. “Oh, Sherl and I are old friends from the pavement outside!” She walked past him and didn’t see John mouth ‘Sherl?’ behind her back. Sherlock busied himself with hanging his coat on the hook by the door. He turned back to John and raised his eyebrows at him. 

“What?”

John shook his head. “Old friends?” Sherlock gave him a confused look. “Nevermind.” He brushed past to go to the sitting room. “Can I get either one of you a drink?”

Janine had already made her way to the kitchen. “No worries, John. I’ll grab a glass of wine in here with Mary.” She poked her head through the door. “Go on and sit. I’ll bring you something.”

John blinked in surprise but said, “Um, sure. A beer for me. Sherlock?”

Before Sherlock could answer Janine said, “Oh, I’ll just bring him a glass of wine. He told me he likes the one I brought.”

John turned to look at Sherlock, forehead creased in confusion. “You drink wine now?”

“Thank you, Janine.” Sherlock sat on the sofa and told John, “On occasion.” 

“I never knew that.” John sat down in his chair and stared at Sherlock. He shook his head again and his left hand spasmed. He clenched it into a fist and then stretched the fingers to loosen it. Sherlock stared at the movement.

“John, are you alright?” The question hit him the wrong way for some reason.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’m fine.” Sherlock flinched back at his tone and John immediately felt bad. He needed to relax. “Sorry. Just a little stressed lately. What with the wedding and all.” He gave Sherlock a weak smile. 

Sherlock gave him a wary look and leaned back into the sofa, looking awkward and unsure of himself. They were both rubbish at small talk and John was beginning to regret letting Mary talk him into this. If he hadn’t been feeling so guilty about- No. He was not thinking about that again. Especially with Sherlock sitting there studying him because he was acting strangely.

He was relieved when Janine came back but his relief was short-lived. Janine plopped herself on the sofa next to Sherlock after handing him his wine - that he apparently liked to drink. 

“Mary asked if you could come and help her out for a mo. Dinner’s almost ready.” She was sitting close to Sherlock and she turned to him, done with John now that she had delivered Mary’s message. “Cheers.” She offered her glass for Sherlock to clink and he did so after a moment, giving John a glance out of the corner of his eye. 

“Cheers.” 

John felt something ugly twist in his gut and he couldn’t breathe. He coughed to cover it and jumped up from his chair. “I’ll just- Um. Mary.” He fled to the loo instead of the kitchen to get hold of himself. The mirror showed him that he was doing a poor job of it. He put the beer bottle down on the counter with a thunk and leaned.  _ In, out. In, out. _ Better. 

What the hell?

Was it because Janine was sitting so close to Sherlock or the fact that he was allowing it? John blinked down at the sink. What was the worst that could happen? Could he see Sherlock asking her out on a date? Not really. Sherlock wasn’t interested in  _ that _ . Besides, he was gay. Right? That’s what Mrs. Hudson, Angelo, hell, even Mycroft, all thought, why should he think differently? 

But.

John felt stupid. What if Sherlock was bisexual like him? He remembered Sherlock’s reaction to Irene  _ fucking _ Adler and that dark twisty thing made itself known in his belly again. He turned on the taps and ran them for a bit to splash some cool water on his face. Checking the mirror again, he thought he looked less like he was about to go on a jealous rampage and more like he was about to be sick. It would have to do.

\--

Mary listened to what was going on in the sitting room as she put the final touches to dinner. A few minutes ago Janine had breezed in with a bottle of wine and a large grin on her face that made Mary’s hair stand up on the back of her neck.  _ What was that woman up to? _

“Whew,” Janine had said fanning herself, “he’s more fit than I thought!” 

“No, Janine. I told you-” She’d been cut off with a flap of a hand. A hand attached to a wrist that she could easily break. She’d done more for less.

Janine took the wine glasses down and fussed around looking for the corkscrew. Mary let her look for a moment and then handed it over. Janine opened the wine with a practiced move. “You don’t have to worry about it! The poor man looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin, bless him.” She leaned against the counter. “Women aren’t really his thing, if you get my meaning.”

Mary shut the oven door and put the roast chicken on top to rest. “Really?” 

Janine had torn off a piece of a roll from a waiting basket on the counter. “Uh huh,” she said around the bite. “He’s only being polite for John.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “You think so?” It made sense. She hadn’t been around Sherlock much, on purpose, but she knew that he was desperate for John’s forgiveness. John had talked about what happened with the bomb on the train car for days. 

“Oh, yeah.” Janine had poured the glasses and opened the fridge to grab the beer for John. Mary had stopped her before she went back out to the sitting room. 

“Flirt with him.” Janine cocked her head in confusion. Mary nodded toward the door. “Nothing over the top, just enough to keep him off his game. It’s the perfect distraction. Oh and ask John to come in here to help get everything on the table.” Janine gave her a cheeky grin and walked away. 

\--

Now she was beginning to think that had been a mistake. Janine delivered the drinks but John hadn’t joined her in the kitchen like she had expected. She’d heard him walk to the loo for a few minutes and then he had finally reappeared.

He walked straight to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Love you.” She blinked in surprise.

“You too. Are you alright? You look a little peaky.”

“I’m fine.” That was a brush off. “This smells amazing.” Something was definitely wrong. She had to keep moving forward.

“Let’s get it on the table so we all can enjoy it then.” She smiled at him and nudged him toward the potatoes and peas. It was the ‘thing with peas’ that John had told her was Sherlock’s favorite. She wasn’t a fan personally but it wasn’t worth raising a fuss over.

She turned to take the chicken to the table and almost ran into John. He was just standing there, staring. She craned her neck to see what he was looking at and all she could see was Sherlock and Janine sitting on the sofa. Janine had her hand on Sherlock’s arm, laughing at something that he must have just said;  he was smiling that small crooked grin of his. 

“John?” Mary’s voice must have carried because Sherlock looked up and whatever was on John’s face made him tilt his head in confusion. She nudged John in the back with her elbow. “Love, you need to move before I drop this.”

She heard him take a deep breath and he said, “Sorry. Sorry, just let me-” He walked over to their small table and put the bowls down with a clank. What was wrong with him? She caught Janine’s eye and all she did was raise her eyebrows at her.  _ What the hell? _

Sherlock stood and straightened his jacket. “Anything I can do to...help?” Good lord. She couldn’t deal with John’s odd behavior in addition to Sherlock underfoot trying to  _ help _ . 

“No, that’s quite all right.” She made sure her tone was light and unassuming. Why had she thought this was a good idea? Oh, yes. The wedding. Fucking Magnussen and his insistence that she had to go all in to make it look good and give him his in to Mycroft Holmes. And then she would be free. She could do this. She put the platter on the table. “In fact, this is it! Why don’t you two go have a seat. I just have to grab the bread.”

Mary clutched the basket in both hands. She had worked for people that made her skin crawl and had killed men with her bare hands. She could survive a bloody dinner with fucking Sherlock Holmes. She put a bright smile on her face and took the bloody bread to the sodding table.

\--

Sherlock felt like he was running on autopilot. He was completely out of his element and he hated it. That woman kept touching him and he had to remind himself that this was for John, it was all for John. 

Everything he ever did was for John.

“Sherl?” Good lord. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath.  _ Smile. Be pleasant. _

“Sorry. You were saying?” He grabbed his wine glass and took a fortifying sip. Janine nattered on for a bit and laughed at her own story. He gave her a small smile to appear polite when he heard Mary’s concerned voice from the kitchen.

“John?” 

Sherlock looked up and John was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, just staring at him. He couldn’t quite parse the look on John’s face. He seemed...angry. Sherlock tilted his head in confusion. Had he done something wrong without realizing it? He thought back and couldn’t think of anything that he had done or said that was socially unacceptable. Why was John upset with him? 

A moment later, the spell was broken and John turned to look at Mary, responding to something that she said to him. He walked over to the table and Mary called them to dinner.

He rose, scooping up his wine glass. “Shall we?”

Janine smiled at him. “Yes, Mr. Holmes. We shall.”

\--

Dinner was awful. 

Mary watched the two men warily, especially John. He’d been behaving like a bit of a shit since they’d sat down. He alternated between too quiet or sharp responses to any attempt at conversation. And now she had just given up and turned all of her attention to Janine, who for once, was the only one not acting like a complete nutter.

“So you’ve set a date?” Janine gave her raised eyebrows and glanced at the other two bodies sitting at the table. And that’s all they were doing. Sitting. 

Mary gave a slight shake of her head. “Narrowing it down. We’re deciding between the first or third weekend in May.”

“Oh, May will be lovely.” They both watched as the two men awkwardly pushed food around on their plates. Mary rolled her eyes.

“Well, we’re done! Who’s up for dessert?” Mary glanced at Janine who gave her an enthusiastic nod and gathered their plates and glasses.

“I’ll just help you clear these up.” They made their way to the kitchen. Janine dumped the dishes in the sink and hissed, “Well, that’s not uncomfortable or anything!”

Mary leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “I’ve never seen John like this.”

“Jealous?” Janine seemed thoughtful.

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Janine leaned closer, hands on her hips. “He’s jealous.”

“No he’s not.” Janine cocked her head, eyebrows raised. Mary glared at her. “He’s not. He’s just, I don’t know, stressed over the wedding or something. He’s been acting a bit odd since we started talking dates.”

Janine shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

A bang came from the direction of the table and they gave each other a shocked look. Mary pushed past Janine to see John standing at the table, his chair on its side. Sherlock was still seated, watching John warily, but slowly rose when he saw Mary.

“Thank you, Mary, for your hospitality. I’m afraid I must be off. Apologies.” He swiftly buttoned his jacket and strode to the door where his coat hung on its hook. He pulled it on with stiff motions, back to them, before turning and giving them a bright smile that Mary could see right through. “Janine, it was lovely meeting you. Good night.”

Mary turned wide eyes to John, who looked...guilty? What the hell had happened in the two minutes that she was out of the room? Janine shifted uncomfortably next to her. “Um, let me just grab these dishes and I’ll be out of your hair.” Janine scooped up the still half full plates and scurried into the kitchen.

“John?”

He turned and calmly righted his chair. “I’m a little tired. I think I’ll go watch some telly in our room so that you and Janine can chat out here.” 

“I don’t think-” He looked at her and she stopped talking. He looked awful. And if he thought that she was going to let him get away with hiding in their room, he had another thing coming. “Sure. Sure, love. Go lie down.”

She gave him a reassuring smile and went to the kitchen where Janine was trying to look like she wasn’t listening in. Her smile vanished. “Get out.”

Janine narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Get out, I have to talk to my fiance.” Janine snickered and Mary clenched her fist, wishing for something to punch. It would be Janine’s face if she didn’t move.

Her expression must have been convincing because Janine raised her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. But I want details.”

“Go.”

Janine grabbed her coat off its hook and let herself out. Mary sighed and looked in the direction of the bedroom. She had a very bad feeling about this.

\--

John sat on the edge of the bed and felt like he was going to be sick. He simultaneously wanted to walk out the door so that he wouldn’t have to talk about what just happened and desperately wanted someone, anyone, to talk to about it. 

Dinner had been beyond awkward. He knew that he’d been out of line. He just couldn’t stop his brain from working overtime. Scenarios kept flashing through his mind without his permission and he felt like he was going crazy. 

What if Sherlock was interested in someone else? No. Not someone else.  _ Someone _ . What would he be like in a relationship? John had jumped ahead and wondered where  _ he _ would fit into Sherlock’s life at that point. He’d just gotten Sherlock back. He couldn’t stand to be edged out by someone else. 

But then he felt guilty because isn’t that what had happened with him? He had Mary and Sherlock was supposed to- What? Not have anyone else because John wanted him for himself? That thought killed his appetite and any want of conversation. Add in the fact that Sherlock kept looking at him as though he expected him to chastise him for something, some unknown slight, and he just couldn’t stand it any longer.

Mary and Janine had been in the kitchen and Sherlock had asked again if he was alright. John had answered yes but Sherlock, dammit, had persisted. He had tried to make a joke. Something about John knowing that he wasn’t good at these sorts of things and John had said, “I’m sure Janine would love to help you get lots of practice.”

Sherlock had looked shocked. “What are you talking about? Janine?”

It had just slipped out. “You told me you were married to your work. It looks like you’re considering an affair.”

And then Sherlock had grown  _ angry _ . His eyes flashed and he had said, “I came here by your invitation, John. You know I don’t do ‘dinner’ or ‘conversation’. I am trying to be a polite guest.” He had looked down at his plate and said what John wondered himself. “It will never be enough. I wish you would just tell me what would be enough so that we can move on with our lives.”  He met John’s eyes then and said, “You certainly had no problem doing so.”

The chair had crashed to the ground when John leapt to his feet, fists clenched. “You left,” he said through gritted teeth. “You were  _ dead _ . What else was I supposed to do?” Sherlock had opened his mouth but was interrupted by Mary and Janine walking in to see what the commotion was all about. 

And then Sherlock had left.

Now John had to deal with the consequences of his actions. He had acted like a jealous boyfriend and he had no right, no right at all. He would have to explain what happened to Mary because he knew she wouldn’t let it go. She never let things go.

He heard the front door close and winced. 

\--

Mary knew that she might be walking into something that would completely destroy everything that she had worked for. If Janine was right, what did that mean? Her entire future rested in John Watson’s hands. She hated it. 

Time for damage control. She could still salvage this mission. Mary had always faced things head on and wasn’t going to stop now. The bedroom door was ajar and she breezed in as if nothing had happened. John was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. There was nothing else for it, she had to move forward. 

“Sorry you aren’t feeling well, love.” She opened the drawer in her side of the dresser and took out the nightie that she knew he loved. “I thought we’d make an early night of it. The dishes can wait until morning.” She gave him a bright smile that he didn’t notice and walked into the bathroom. She had to play it as if everything were normal, so she started her usual bedtime routine. 

Change clothes, turn on the taps, get the face scrub out of the drawer. “Janine’s excited about the wedding,” Mary called out over the sound of running water. “She loves the idea of lilac for the dresses. I think it’s just because that color looks amazing on her.” She laughed lightly and dried her face. John was still silent but she powered on. “Speaking of Janine,” she gave herself a once over in the mirror to make sure everything was being displayed to its advantage, “I need to apologize to Sherlock.”

She walked back into the bedroom and gave the side of his head a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid she came on a bit strong. She’s a bit of a fan.” Mary searched her memory for any tidbits that John had told her about Sherlock. “I mean, I know you said he doesn’t ‘do’ relationships, so I’m sure she made him uncomfortable.”

She plopped herself on the other side of the bed and grabbed the lotion off the bedside table. Time to pull out the big guns. This trick had distracted John more than once. She bent one leg to its best advantage and started to smooth on lotion. “So which weekend in May do you think will be best? We need to set-”

John moved so quickly from the bed that he startled her into stillness. “Stop it. Just stop it.” He paced back and forth at the end of the bed, hand scrubbing across his face.

She carefully finished the lotion application and rubbed her hands together. “Stop what?”

A harsh laugh escaped his lips. “Stop acting like nothing happened.”

“I don’t know-”

John stopped his pacing and stood head down, hands on his hips. “You do know.” He wouldn’t look at her. 

Mary turned to sit on the edge of the bed, settling her nightie around her primly. “All I know is that you had a little tiff with Sherlock. That’s nothing new.”

“It wasn’t a ‘tiff’. I-” John started to pace again. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

Mary wanted to scream.  _ Who cares about sodding dinner?  _ “It’s fine. Don’t worry about that. What happened with Sherlock? Did he say something?” She made herself relax and offer him an open, trusting face. She knew John and if she pushed, he would shut down. All she could do was wait him out.

It was another minute before John finally spoke. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” She didn’t have to fake the fear in her voice. “John, you’re scaring me.” If he was about to do this, she would have to move fast. He needed to fucking talk. She clenched her hands together in her lap and waited.

“Mary-” John finally turned to look at her and her heart dropped. “Mary, I don’t know what to do.”

“John.” She tried to keep her voice gentle but an edge of hysteria was creeping in around the edges. “John, you’re not making sense.” 

“I think I need some time to sort some things out.” 

“What sort of things?” She knew damn well what he was talking about but she had to make him say it.

Guilt was written all over John’s face. “I told you some things. When, when Sherlock was dead. When I  _ thought _ Sherlock was dead.” He looked down at his hands. “I’m not, not over that.”

“Over what?” Mary took a deep breath. She was going to have to spoon feed this to him. Bloody emotionally repressed man. “You’re still in love with him.”

“I’m sorry.” John face crumpled in a way that she never expected. “I’m so sorry. He came back and it was like he was never gone. I was so angry, I’m still so angry about everything. But he’s back and-” His voice broke and a tear ran down his face. So this is what it took for John Watson to finally give in and cry in front her.  

“What do you want to do?” She needed time. Magnussen could not find out about this.

John swiped at his face. “I think I need to go stay somewhere else for awhile.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll call Greg.”

Greg. She was fairly certain that Greg was safely below Magnussen’s notice so she might be able to salvage this. Or at least delay the inevitable. “Are you sure?” 

John nodded. “Yeah. I need to do this. Just to get everything straight in my head.” He gave her a weak smile. “It’s not fair to you. I’m sorry.”

Mary was already ten steps ahead of him. He was going to leave her and she had to get a handle on what she was going to do next. Get him out of the house and text Janine. She patted his shoulder and sniffled as if she were trying to hold back tears. “If that’s what you need to do, John. I’ll just-” She gestured toward the bathroom. He stood with her and caught her into a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

Mary nodded against him and then pushed him gently away. “Just, just go.” She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, slumping against it. Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Her mobile was still on the counter. She picked it up and shot off a quick text to Janine.

**Congratulations on being right. M**

**What are we going to do? J**

**Be here in an hour unless I say otherwise. M**

Mary leaned against the door and listened to John packing his bag in the other room. This was going to be tricky.

\--

The cab ride was an eternity. Sherlock stared out the window and watched the city pass him by as he rode further and further from John. It had started to rain just before he reached Baker Street which was a suitable accompaniment to such a day. 

He let himself in, relieved that Mrs. Hudson’s door was closed and hopefully she would be settled in for the night with one of her herbal soothers. He had foolishly mentioned that he was having dinner with John so he would have to endure her questions in the morning. There was the possibility of staying in his room until she brought up the tea, the latest manifestation of her concern. 

Sherlock didn’t sleep well most nights. It had been humiliating to be woken from an apparent nightmare only to find Mrs. Hudson well across the room, eyes wide and frightened. She had apologized but he had been so loud that she had heard him in her sitting room. The tea had started the next morning and he made sure to close all of the doors at night.

The seventeen steps seemed mountainous. Exhaustion was a solid weight settled across his shoulders. Sherlock shrugged out of his coat and hung it on its hook. He ran a hand down the tweedy wool, the familiar roughness grounding him. 

He shuffled in the direction of his bedroom with the intention of changing into his pajamas and dressing gown, the worn cotton and smooth silk a welcome comfort. His mobile buzzed in his trouser pocket and he ignored it. He knew it would be Mycroft, there was no reason to check.

It buzzed again when he tossed it onto the bedside table after emptying his pockets. He looked at the flashing screen for confirmation. Mycroft again. He would call one more time before finally sending a text. Sherlock decided to wait him out. 

The third call came, as predicted, as he walked back into the sitting room. He looked over at the other chair, sod it,  _ John’s  _ chair, and a wave of anger washed over him, clearing away the exhaustion for the moment. He strode over to the chair and its emptiness was infuriating. 

Sherlock gave the back of it a shove and it tipped back, settling back on all four legs with a thump. He grabbed the front of it with both hands and lifted it to its apex before letting go, watching as it slowly overbalanced before hitting the floor with a satisfying crash. He leaned down and picked up the back of the chair, dragging it toward the open doorway. 

Sherlock considered shoving it down the stairs, imagining it careening off the walls and falling to pieces on the way down. He couldn’t make himself do it. Instead he dragged the chair up the stairs to John’s old room. The room was dusty with neglect and it seemed a fitting place to stash a reminder of his failures out of his sight. He pushed it through the door and unceremoniously left it where it lay on its side. He closed the door tightly behind him and ignored Mrs. Hudson’s inquiry about the noise that she called up the stairs to him. 

He wondered what his face looked like because she didn’t press him, returning to her flat and leaving him in peace. His mobile buzzed again, the looming text from Mycroft to which he would have to respond. It was a mostly unspoken pact. If he didn’t answer, Mycroft would appear on his doorstep and he had no desire to deal with that tonight.

**How was dinner? MH**

Sherlock flopped into his own chair with its brand new view to the kitchen and tapped out a reply. 

**Piss off. SH**

**What did you do this time? MH**

**Who’s to say I did anything? SH**

That was the crux of the whole thing, wasn’t it? He had gone back over the disaster of an evening in his mind and he could not see that he had done anything to merit John’s anger or frustration. He had  _ tried _ . 

**The balance of probability is not in your favor. MH**

Sherlock had to admit that he had a point, but the stark unfairness of John’s treatment weighed heavily on his mind. What else could he do? Perhaps, there was nothing to be done. John would continue along this path, drawing away into his new life with Mary, and Sherlock would be alone again.

**Are you alright? MH**

Sherlock blinked at the screen. It was uncanny how his brother always knew. It was apparent that Mycroft knew that something untoward had happened and the only way he could know is if he had John under surveillance. That wouldn’t do.

**Don’t watch him. SH**

The reply was immediate.

**I’m not watching him. MH**

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. So, Mycroft hadn’t quite given up his constant vigilance as Sherlock’s keeper. He had grown lazy while John was with him and Sherlock had depended on his own wits while he was destroying Moriarty’s network. Now Mycroft was picking up the reins once again.

**You’re not my keeper. SH**

**Someone needs to be. MH**

And suddenly Sherlock realized what this was. Mycroft was testing him, trying to see if this was one of his so-called ‘danger nights’. He considered the possibility. The idea was tempting, if only to make his thoughts stop whirling about in his head. Morphine could fix that in seconds. He shook his head but then paused, contemplating. What was the point of it all if John was going to fade away from him? His mobile buzzed a reminder.

**Sherlock. MH**

Sherlock rolled his eyes. The temporary relief wasn’t worth dealing with Mycroft over.

**I’m fine. Go away. SH**

**Of course you are. MH**

\--

Greg had met John to let him into his flat with thankfully little questioning. He was currently on shift but had easily agreed to let John stay. “As long as you need, mate,” he had said. He showed John to the second bedroom and told him to help himself to anything in the sparse kitchen. “I’ll be back in a few hours if you want to talk.” 

John didn’t want to talk but he nodded anyway and thanked Greg, promising to get out of his hair as soon as he could. Greg, of course, had waved him off and repeated his invitation to stay however long he needed to.

John sat his bag down on the bed in what could only reasonably pass for a guest room. It looked like it doubled as an office with a single bed shoved into the corner as an afterthought. It screamed bachelor and was as far away from the comfortable environment of Mary’s flat as he could get. After living there for months, he still thought of it as Mary’s flat. That should have been a clue.

He had been fooling himself this entire time. Talking about ‘moving on’. Domestic bliss. John opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He had no doubt that Greg would make him talk about what happened when he got home, so he’d rather be a few in just in case. Maybe there would be a juicy murder and Greg wouldn’t get home until tomorrow.

Christ, he sounded like Sherlock.

Sherlock. John took a long pull from the bottle and sat at the small kitchen table. What was he going to do? He had managed to destroy his relationship with his fiancee and alienate his best friend in one fell swoop. He ran a hand through his hair. 

Mary had encouraged him to keep going out on cases with Sherlock. She said she understood that Sherlock was important to him and that they were very close. She didn’t know that the reason that John decided to start going on cases again was so that he could make sure that nothing happened to Sherlock. He had lain awake at night terrified that something was going to happen to Sherlock and this miracle would be stolen from him because he was too much of a coward to watch his back.

Dinner tonight, though, had brought something out in John that he hadn’t felt in years. He had never felt that jealous about any previous partner, not even Mary. And Sherlock had never been a partner, at least not in the romantic sense. John had to admit that their friendship, at least before Moriarty had come along, had been a little hard to define. He had never been that close to a person that he wasn’t actively sleeping with.

This was crazy. He was in love with his best friend. A best friend that had shot him down cold the first day they met. Married to his work. John had used those very words as a weapon when he had lashed out at Sherlock. He probably didn’t even want to talk to him. And if he did, what was John going to say? “You see, I’ve been in love with you for years but didn’t realize it until you died. Want to give it a go?’

John snorted and took another long drink. This was going to require something stronger. He got up from the table to poke around in the cabinets for Greg’s emergency whisky.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Greg laying down some true facts and John Watson finally getting a clue! Can we have a round of applause?

Chapter 4

Janine showed back up at the flat precisely one  hour after Mary had sent her last text. She had barely opened the door when Janine blurted out, “What the hell happened?”

“Plan B.” Mary closed the door and followed Janine into the sitting room. “Sit down.”

“Sit down? How can you be so calm?” Janine had apparently realized what would happen if her plan went to shit. Magnussen would start looking at Janine more closely once he was done destroying her and where would that leave Janine?

Mary gave her a narrow-eyed glare. “Sit down and shut up. I’ll get us through this but you cannot panic. Understand?” Janine nodded silently, sinking down onto the sofa. That wasn’t good enough. “I said, do you understand?”

Janine swallowed and clenched her hands in her lap. “I understand.” Her voice was shaky, but Mary could tell that she was attempting to pull herself together. It would have to do. She was out of options.

She paced the short distance from the living room to the kitchen and back again. “Okay. Here’s what is going to happen. You’re going to go to Sherlock for help with your horrible boss.”

“What? Me?” Janine’s eyes were wide. “I can’t. He’ll know!” 

“Exactly.” Mary’s eyes flicked back and forth as the plan came together in her mind. “We want him to know.”

Janine touched the almost fully healed flesh under her eye. “But, Mary, I don’t-”

Mary sighed. She was going to have to do some hand-holding here. She actually liked Janine to a point, but Janine was going to have to pull it together or neither one of them was going to survive. She allowed her face to soften. “I know. I know what he’s capable of, but you can do this. You  _ have _ to do this.” She sat next to Janine on the sofa and gave her hand a pat. “Okay, listen carefully, because here’s what we’re going to do.”

\--

Greg showed up far earlier than John expected. He brought a box of paperwork to finish up at home so that he could check on John. Greg unlocked the door, awkwardly balancing the box as he did. “John?”

John blinked up at him blearily from where he still sat at the kitchen table. He hadn’t been able to find the scotch and hadn’t been desperate enough to text. Instead he’d been nursing a beer or two for the past few hours while he thought about the mess he’d made. “Hey, Greg.” He saw Greg’s concern and felt that he had to say something. “I’m not drunk.” 

Greg gave him a critical look. He’d been there when John was at his worst after Sherlock died, and it had, to be quite honest, terrified him. He didn’t see anything close to that on John’s face now, but he knew that nothing upset him like this unless it involved Sherlock. John didn’t get this upset otherwise. He put the box on the counter and then got a beer out of the fridge. He was going to need a drink for this. “You want to talk about it?”

John looked away for a moment. “Not really.”

“Want to talk about it anyway?” Greg took a sip of beer as John gave him a half-smile. It would take some coaxing but he knew he’d eventually get it out of him. “C’mon, how bad could it be?” The unspoken words  _ we both know how bad it can be _ hung there for a moment.

John looked at the mostly empty beer bottle on the table and then drained it. “Fine. But you have to promise not to laugh.”

Greg held up a hand. “I would never.”

John snorted. “Oh, you might at this, mate.” He sighed. “I can’t marry Mary.”

“What?” Greg sat his beer down on the table with a thunk. “Why?”

John scrubbed a hand over his face. “Because I made a giant arse of myself tonight. Also, I think I might be in love with Sherlock.”

Greg stared at him. He started to raise his bottle to take a drink and set it down instead. His mouth opened but nothing came out. His brain was currently split into two factions,  _ about fucking time  _ and  _ oh, god, Mary. _ He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You always said you weren’t gay.” He winced at his own bluntness, but he honestly thought that the only reason that John and Sherlock hadn’t been shagging like bunnies was because John was straight as an arrow.

John rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m not. I’m bi with a strong preference for women. I haven’t been with a bloke since the army.” He looked at Greg pleadingly. “Am I crazy?”

“Oh, yeah. Most definitely.” Greg took a large swig of beer. God he needed it. In fact, he might break into the whisky if John hadn’t drank it all. “But not because you’re confused. What happened tonight?”

John groaned and leaned his head back to study the ceiling. “We had dinner tonight, because Mary wanted her friend Janine to meet Sherlock since they were both going to be in the wedding. Well, Janine was, I hadn’t actually asked Sherlock yet.” He blew out a breath. “Anyway, Janine took a fancy to Sherlock and, I swear to God, Greg, I have never been so fucking jealous in my life.” That admission forced him to look Greg in the eye. “It just- It hit me like a truck right then and there. And then I was a complete prat to Sherlock and he left.” John ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Then I told Mary that I couldn’t do it.” He slumped, looking defeated. “I can’t do that to her. I just don’t know what to do now.”

“What do you want to do?” Greg liked Mary, but Sherlock was his friend, and if this was the chance for John to finally get his shit together, then he was going to try and push him along. God knows he’d take forever otherwise. 

“I don’t know,” John groaned, putting his head down on the table. “I mean, it’s  _ Sherlock _ .”

Greg blinked at him. “And? Are you going to talk to him?”

“God, no. He doesn’t do, well, anything that I can tell. So I just need to get my head together on this.” John gave a sad little sigh and Greg wanted to smack him. “Just get over it, I guess.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Greg’s voice was sharp. “Seriously, right now, are you taking the piss?” John lifted his head and stared at him in confusion. “Oh my god. You’re serious.” Greg stood and walked across the small kitchen, binning his bottle with a little more force than necessary. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the counter.

“Greg, what are you-”

“Alright.” Greg looked at John intently. “You need to tell him.”

“But I don’t think-”

“He does. Whatever you think he doesn’t do, he does when it comes to you.” Greg threw up his hands in exasperation. “For Christ’s sake, John, why do you think everyone thought you were a bloody couple? And who always said that you weren’t? That’s right, you. Never Sherlock.”

“What-” John stammered then his mouth shut with a click. He peered up at Greg. “So, you mean…”

Greg rolled his eyes. “If you’re sure about this, I’ll drive you to Baker Street myself. But, John,” he gave him a hard look, “be sure, alright?”

John raised his head and looked Greg in the eye. “I’m not sure about anything right now.”

\--

John ended up grabbing a taxi from Greg’s place, leaving his one lone bag of things there. It just seemed too presumptuous, and frankly far too romcom, to show up on Sherlock’s doorstep, bag in hand. 

The familiar black door loomed in front of him as he dug in his coat pocket for his keys. John still had a key to 221B, but not by his own choice. He’d tried to return it several times, but Sherlock had either distracted him or ignored him each time. Now he used it to let himself in so that he didn’t wake up Mrs. Hudson. 

The seventeen steps leading up to the flat looked unending. How many times had he walked them, run up them? He hesitated at the bottom, hand on the bannister, and wondered if he would even be welcome there right now. Just a few hours ago, he had said hurtful things and behaved horribly. 

He was still standing there, lost in his own thoughts, when he heard a noise from the landing up above him. Sherlock was looking down at him, the spare light from the open flat door doing nothing to keep him out of the shadows. “John?”

John nodded, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s, um, it’s me. Can I come up?”

The hesitation was palpable. John was sure that Sherlock was going to tell him to leave. He could barely see Sherlock’s eyes in the gloom but he could tell that they were piercing, observing. Sherlock turned to go back up the stairs into the flat and John felt a stab of disappointment. He started to step back toward the door, but stopped when he heard Sherlock say, “Of course. You’re always welcome here, don’t be an idiot.”

A wave of relief rushed through him, but hot on its heels was a nervous tension that paralyzed him. He froze at the bottom of the stairs until he heard Sherlock’s quiet footsteps stop at the flat door. “Are you coming?” 

John finally forced his feet to move and carry him up past Sherlock. He met Sherlock’s eyes and tried to give him a smile. His effort was met with a cool stare. He looked away, moving farther into the flat. He made it about two steps before blurting, “Where’s my chair?”

He glanced at Sherlock and he could swear that a faint pink tinged his cheeks. Embarrassment over something or anger? “Your chair? Oh, it was blocking my view to the kitchen.” John stared at him, startled. Sherlock ignored him and walked to his own chair, dropping into it with lithe grace. He crossed his legs and looked at John expectantly. 

John sighed and grabbed the client chair, dragging it over to where his chair,  _ my chair _ , he thought fiercely, would normally sit. He sat down and shifted uncomfortably under Sherlock’s gaze. He looked around the room for a moment before finally settling his eyes back on Sherlock. “I suppose I should start with an apology.”

“Did Mary send you?” The question took him a few seconds to process. Did Sherlock really think that the only way that John would apologize was if Mary made him? That...hurt. A bit. And made him feel guilty. Had he really been as shit of a friend for Sherlock to think that? 

It wasn’t like Mary even knew he was here. She knew that he was feeling conflicted but she didn’t know that he was here to do...what exactly? Declare himself to Sherlock, and sink or swim with rejection or acceptance? He felt Sherlock’s eyes on him, waiting for his answer.

“No.” He looked down at his hands. “No, she didn’t.” He heard Sherlock shift in his seat, the silk of his dressing gown sliding on the leather. “I don’t want- I need to say- First of all, I-” He swore at himself in frustration. He took a deep breath. Start at the beginning. “I’m sorry I was such a shit at dinner. I had no right to say those things to you.” He met Sherlock’s eyes again. “You were being more polite than I thought you knew how, and I was an arse. Sorry.”

“Accepted.” Sherlock’s tone was still cool but John felt a little of the tension leave the room. “John, why are you really here?”

He knew. Of course he knew, Sherlock always knew. “Mary and I are taking a break.” 

Confusion flashed across Sherlock’s face. “I’m...sorry?” He hesitated. “I’m sure if you talk to her, everything will be fine.” His attempt at consoling John would have been amusing under different circumstances.

John shook his head. “No, that’s just- We’ve talked and that’s  _ why  _ we’re taking a break.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.” He rose suddenly and walked over to the window, where he stood in silence for a moment before muttering to himself. “I thought you were happy. You were supposed to be happy.” Sherlock whirled around and gave John a searching look. “What happened?”

This was the hard part. John had always been a bit crap at talking about feelings in general, but something like this, something this important, made him want to run out of the room and hide. “There are some things that I need to figure out.”

“ _ Things? _ ” Sherlock sat back down in his chair. “What kind of  _ things _ ?”

“I’ve recently realized,” John began carefully, “that there is someone that I care about very much.” He looked down at where his hands were clasped in his lap. “Someone that I care about as much as Mary. Or possibly more.”

He glanced up to see Sherlock’s reaction and was surprised to see a glimmer of hurt wash across his face before he put the mask back on. “John. You’ve been cheating on Mary? With whom?” His gaze swept up and down John’s body as if trying to deduce how he could have missed this bit of information.

“No! Nothing like that,” John quickly reassured him. “It’s just something that I have to find out before I can commit myself to Mary. I don’t even know if this person feels the same way.”  _ It’s you, you idiot. How can you not see? _

“I see.” Sherlock leaned back, fingertips almost touching his lips. “And how are you going to find out if this  _ person  _ feels the same way? Are you just going to ask her?”

_ Here we go _ . “I’m asking him right now.” 

Sherlock just, stopped. His face was blank and John was fairly sure he didn’t even blink. He sat there completely still for at least a minute before he drew in a gasping breath. “That’s not a question.”

John should have known he would have to spell it out. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and made himself look into Sherlock’s eyes. Those clever eyes that could see everything but this. “I’m asking, Sherlock. How do you feel about me?” There. It was done. John sat up again and watched the varied expressions that crossed Sherlock’s face, each one as well known to him as a much loved book. 

The chair creaked when he shifted, and he realized how many people had sat there. The client chair was for people awaiting their, mostly Sherlock’s, judgement.  _ This is where they sit _ , he thought.  _ This is where they sit and he decides if he wants them or not _ . What was he going to do if he didn’t want  _ him _ ? 

The silence was heavy. Sherlock started to speak and stopped himself, frowning. John fought the urge to close his eyes. He didn’t want to see the rejection, and the knowledge that he had completely destroyed his relationships with the the two people who mattered most in the world to him.

They both startled when Sherlock’s mobile rang. He pulled it from his pocket and switched it off without looking at it, opening his mouth to speak again before closing it again. This was maddening, and John couldn’t take it any longer.

“Nevermind. I don’t know what I was thinking. Just- Just delete all of this.” John started to stand up, to walk out of the flat,  _ run _ out of the flat with what little dignity he had left, when Sherlock’s voice stopped him.

“I haven’t answered the question yet.” His mobile rang again, and he silenced it.

“Shouldn’t you get that? Could be important.” John sat back down and didn’t meet Sherlock’s eyes. 

“No. I shouldn’t.” Sherlock fidgeted with his phone, flipping it over and over in his long fingers. “John, you know I am not good with these things but-”

“I know. I’m rather pants at them myself.” John gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “Look, Sherlock, you don’t-”

“-you’re not gay.” Sherlock spoke right over him. “How many times have you said that? Anytime anyone ever alluded to the possibility of your being involved with me, you denied it. Quite strongly at times. I don’t understand. Explain.” Sherlock’s face was carefully blank but there was a touch of anger and frustration around the edges.

“Oh, I-”  _ Shit _ . John had always assumed that Sherlock knew. Had always known and just wasn’t interested or didn’t go in for that sort of thing. Wasn’t that what he had said that first night? Married to his work? “I thought you knew that I was-”

“That you were what?”

“Bisexual.” Sherlock stilled again and John could swear that he heard him mutter something that sounded like  _ It’s always something _ . “I mean, we’ve never talked about things like that, but you always just  _ know _ .” 

Sherlock leapt up from his chair so quickly that he staggered and John thought that he was going to lose his balance. He strode over to the window with quick steps and then back again, hand reaching up to scrub through his hair. He turned to look at John and John was taken aback by the despair that he saw on Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock-” John reached out for him instinctively, wanting to comfort him, even though they didn’t  _ do  _ that sort of thing. 

“How long?” 

John almost didn’t hear the whispered words. He cleared his throat and stood, resolute now that they were going to have this out, one way or another. “Since before you jumped, even though I didn’t realize it for what it was.” He took a step closer to Sherlock, who now had both hands buried in his curls as if he was trying to hold his thoughts together. “I can’t stop thinking that I’m making the biggest mistake of my life with Mary, and I just-” his voice broke and he swallowed hard. “I just need to know.”

“What do you need to know?” Sherlock was speaking very carefully now and John could hear the ragged edge of fear in his voice. It was something that he hadn’t heard since Dartmoor, or since that phone call from the roof of Bart’s. 

“Do you feel the same way?” John stood still now, the distance between them a chasm for him to fling himself into. “If you don’t, it’s okay. I’ll get over it.” No he wouldn’t. He would be crushed and Sherlock would never want to be in the same room with him again. It wasn’t fair to Mary for her to be his second choice, that would be over.  _ Please, please, please… _

Sherlock had stopped his pacing and stood with his back to John, hands finally untangled from his hair and limp at his sides. He looked defeated. His voice was low and tense. “The first moment I saw you, the very first time, I thought ‘There you are.’ And you were fascinating. You were broken like I was broken, and I knew.”

John couldn’t help it. “Knew what?”

Sherlock turned to look at him, his eyes sad and his face drawn. He looked exhausted. John hadn’t even noticed it before, but he did now. “Knew that I wanted you. I didn’t know how at the time, but I knew that I wanted you in my life in any way that I could keep you.”

John felt a tiny bit of hope bloom, loosening the knot in his chest. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I told you. I’m rubbish at this.”

“You were going to stand by and watch me marry someone else?” 

Sherlock’s face shifted and he growled in frustration. “I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy, John. Everything I’ve ever done has been to keep you safe and happy. Can’t you see that? I gave up two years of my life, of the Work, to keep you safe.” 

“Sherlock, I-” Sherlock cut him off again.

“Please, John. Let me say this.” Sherlock drew himself up, gaining his composure back in increments. “What you are telling me right now is something that I told myself that I would never have. When I was gone-” he took a deep breath. “The only thing that kept me going at times was the thought of coming back home. And when I got home and you had moved on, I wished that I had never come back.” John made a noise of denial. 

Then  _ his _ mobile started ringing. Frowning he glanced at the screen. Mycroft. He looked up at Sherlock. “Your brother has the worst timing on the planet, but I think something is going on.”

At that moment, they both heard the front door open and footsteps on the stairs. 

\--

Mycroft’s gaze traveled between the two men, and he rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” Sherlock snapped and strode over to sit in his chair. “What do you want, Mycroft?” Sherlock’s tone was as imperious as usual, but John could hear a faint tremor of something else beneath. God, he wanted Mycroft to just  _ go away _ .

“I need to speak with you, which you would know if you bothered to answer your phone.” Mycroft gave John a pointed look. “Do you mind, John?”

John opened his mouth to answer but Sherlock said, “He’s not going anywhere. Just spit out whatever inane crisis you need me to solve for you so we can get on with our lives.”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” Mycroft said with a narrow-eyed glance at Sherlock, “in present company, considering the subject.” John’s eyebrows rose.

“Seriously? After all I’ve seen and done involving you lot?” He eyed both of the brothers. “Now I have to know.” John saw the corner of Sherlock’s lips quirk.

“Well, if you insist, needs must and all. This can’t wait any longer.” Mycroft looked at where John’s chair usually sat and sighed before sitting in the client chair. “You might want to have a seat, though.” He gave John a look that was almost kind and John felt his heart start to pound. What was this all about?

John pulled the desk chair over next to Sherlock’s chair and sat. He had a hysterical thought of taking Sherlock’s hand, but that wasn’t going to happen right now. Not in front of bloody Mycroft. Sherlock glanced at him, taking in his clenched fist. “Spit it out, Mycroft.” He didn’t take his eyes from John.

“It has come to my attention,” Mycroft drew a folder from the briefcase that he had settled neatly beside the chair, “that there is a wolf among the sheep.” 

Sherlock scoffed, “I thought that was _your_ area.” 

Mycroft’s face hardened. “During a standard background check, anomalies were found that precipitated a deeper look into this person’s history. It had been found that this person is not who they say they are and-”

“Stop.” Sherlock was suddenly very serious. “Stop right there.” He pressed his fingertips to his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be here if everything hadn’t been double and triple checked.” Mycroft sounded indignant at the suggestion that his information could possibly be wrong.

Sherlock flapped a hand at him. “Right. Shut up.” He turned to look at John. “John, you might not want to hear this after all.”

John’s eyes widened. Well, that settled it. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No more secrets, even if you think it’s for my own good. Not anymore.” 

“Are you sure? This could be painful to hear.” At John’s small nod, Sherlock turned to Mycroft. “Very well. Go on.”

Mycroft pressed his lips together in a grim line. “Very well. I suppose showing you will be best.” He handed over the folder and John opened it as if the pages contained a bomb. 

Mary. 

Not as he knew her, blonde and funny and sweet. No, this Mary had dark hair and a hardness to her face that he had never seen before. The words didn’t make sense. Assassinations. Known associate: Jim Moriarty. AGRA. He handed the folder to Sherlock, but closed his hand tightly around it before Sherlock could take it. “Did you know?”

Sherlock’s voice was low and gentle in a way that John didn’t recognize. “I knew she was hiding something, but I assumed it was a previous marriage or something else as benign. Not this, John, I swear.”

John let go of the folder and turned his attention to Mycroft. “Was she sent here for me?” He heard Sherlock make a pleased noise, as if proud that he had caught on so quickly. He ignored him and stared at Mycroft. “Was she?”

Mycroft’s answer was carefully constructed. “We believe so. She had ties to Moriarty, and now maintains associations with what is left of his criminal contacts.”

“Who?” Sherlock didn’t look up from the folder. “Nevermind. I see.” He read for another few moments before stilling as if struck with a thought. “I’m sorry, John.”

John blinked back to reality. The reality that involved his fiance being an international assassin. “What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see this sooner.” Sherlock closed the folder and handed it back to Mycroft. “She was at the pool.”

John closed his eyes. When his nightmares didn’t feature watching Sherlock leap off a building, they were about the pool. About seeing that red dot appear on Sherlock’s forehead and knowing that there was nothing that he could do. Mary, or whoever she was, was one of those red dots. He was suddenly very glad that he was sitting down. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to throw something, or just hide under the covers until this all went away.

He snorted to himself. He didn’t even  _ have _ a bed anymore. What the hell was he going to do? He still had things to work out with Sherlock, but now  _ this _ . He supposed he could always go back to Greg’s, at least for tonight. The room had grown quiet while he was lost in his thoughts, and he looked up to see both men looking at him carefully. They were waiting for his reaction. 

“Sherlock?” If he had to go through this, all of this, he’d much rather it just be Sherlock and not Mycroft on hand to witness his humiliation. 

“Mycroft, I’m sure you already have eyes on Mary. You will want to do the same for Janine, Mary’s friend, as she works for Magnussen.” Sherlock’s eyes didn’t leave John’s. “That’s all for now.”

“That’s all?” Mycroft sputtered. “That’s-” 

Sherlock glared at him and his words were clipped. “That’s all. Leave.” He rolled his eyes at Mycroft’s stare. “Fine. I will answer my phone when you call. Will you go now?” He glanced at John and then back to his brother. “Please?”

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose. “Very well. I will be in touch.” He gathered up his briefcase and stood, holding the folder in his hand before nodding and placing it on the coffee table. “John, I am truly sorry.” 

John listened to the descending footsteps and the front door opening. His life had just fallen apart, and Mycroft Holmes had apologized for it. What was the world coming to? 

\--

John heard the door to the flat close with a click, but it didn’t really register until Sherlock was standing in front of him, looking down at him in concern. An odd swooping sensation in his belly made him swallow and wonder if he was going to be sick. He closed his eyes for a moment to reorient himself, and then blinked up into Sherlock’s pale gaze. 

“John, are you alright?” John didn’t know the answer to that. He tried anyway.

“I- I don’t know.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “It’s been a rather full evening.” He stood, not quite sure what he was doing.

Sherlock’s lips quirked into a half smile and he suddenly reached up, cupping John’s face in his hands. For one heart-stopping moment, John was sure that he was going to kiss him. But Sherlock leaned his head down, resting his forehead against John’s. “We have things to discuss, you and I. Unfortunately, that will have to wait.” 

John put his arms around Sherlock’s waist without thinking, drawing him closer until his head was tucked up under Sherlock’s chin. The weight of Sherlock’s arms holding him close was warm and safe and grounding. He needed this more than he realized. They had things to talk about, true, but Sherlock was right. It could wait. At least for the moment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I AM SO SORRY!! Life has been crazy and some exciting things have been happening that have taken up a ton of my time. I will try to update this quicker but I can't make any promises. Thank you for sticking with me!

Chapter 5

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed off. They never got direct sun in the master bedroom in the morning. John squeezed his eyes shut before cracking them open to realize that he wasn’t in Mary’s flat. Or entrenched in Greg’s spare room, which was where he had expected to find himself after leaving Mary last night. 

He was at Baker Street, in his old room, his old bed. Mrs. Hudson must have taken down the blackout curtains that used to cover the windows. He’d put them up after about a week of waking up to the sun in his face and realizing that their odd hours were not conducive to a regular sleep schedule. He rolled to his back and stretched, then just lay there, staring at the ceiling. 

So many things had happened last night. So many things had changed. He smiled, remembering Sherlock’s oddly formal words. They did have things to discuss. Sherlock had reluctantly stepped back from that embrace that had felt so right and had nodded to him before saying, “Goodnight, John. You are more than welcome to stay here.” And then he had turned and walked to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

John had resisted the urge to follow him. He just wanted to be near him, crawl into bed with him and tuck his head under Sherlock’s chin again, to feel safe while everything else fell apart. John let out a shaky breath. He’d been living with an assassin, a very good one according to the file, and he’d been planning to marry her. 

Instead, he had gone upstairs to find his chair overturned in the corner of his room. What the hell was  _ that _ all about? He had tipped it back up onto its feet and then stood back looking at it. Sherlock had dragged it up the stairs and just shoved it into the room. Why?

_ He misses you, you twat. _

Could it be that simple? John smiled to himself. Sherlock had missed him. Had he missed him as much as… John’s grin melted away and he stared at his chair. How could he love someone and still be so angry with them? He sank into the familiar seat and huffed out a bitter laugh. That thought could apply to two people in his life at the moment. 

How was this his life? His mobile rang and saved him from that train of thought. He looked at the screen and rolled his eyes. Greg. “Hello?”

“Hey, mate! Just wanted to make sure that, well, that you, um-”

“Spit it out, Greg.”

Greg laughed. “Fine, fine. What happened? I mean, I’m not trying to pry…”

“You’re not?” John smiled to himself. “What are you, a teenage girl?”

Greg growled. “John Watson, if you don’t give up the goods-”

“Alright, alright!” John sighed. “We still have a lot to talk about but-” he couldn’t help the small grin even after everything that had happened. “-let’s just say things are much clearer now than they were.”

“I knew it!” Greg crowed and John pulled the phone away from his ear. “It’s about fucking time, mate. Seriously.”

Greg’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Yeah, I know. Speaking of which, I think I’m just going to stay here tonight.” He pulled the phone away again from the ear-piercing wolf-whistle that emitted from it. “Shut up, you wanker! Nothing happened!”  _ Not yet. _ “There’s still a lot of baggage to work through and…”

Greg cut him off with a laugh. “Oh, just get over yourself and shag the lunatic!” His laughter died off. “Oh, I get it. You want to break things off with Mary first.” John heard him blow out a breath. “In that case, you’re doing the right thing. For everyone, you hear me?”

“I’d like to think so. Things are just a little fucked up right now.” He leaned his head back against the worn dark red fabric, inhaling the familiar smell of home. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed the smell of chemicals and tobacco. “It’s just a lot.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” John could hear Greg shuffling through papers on the other end of the line. Still doing paperwork. No wonder he wanted to gossip. “Hey, you want me to bring your stuff by tomorrow? I’m supposed to bring some files by in the morning for Sherlock anyway.”

“Ta, Greg. That’d be great. There’ll be coffee, I swear.”

Greg laughed. “You might want to check that before you make false promises. Last time I was by, he was drinking instant. Sherlock Holmes and instant coffee! God, I’m glad you’re back to take care of him.” John could hear genuine relief in Greg’s voice and he felt a twinge of guilt. 

“Yeah, me too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” John rang off and made himself go to bed.

Now he was looking up at the crack that had spidered out from the corner since the last time he’d been there. He was back. He was back, and he was fairly certain that there was no coffee in the flat, so he’d better get moving early before Greg got there.

\--

Sherlock looked up from his laptop when he heard John moving around upstairs. It was morning. He hadn’t realized it was morning until just that moment. He had been scouring the information on the small silver flash drive that Mycroft had given him, memorizing everything he could about Mary or rather the person known as A.G.R.A. 

He had sent John to bed last night, and it had felt like detaching a limb. But John had been completely wrung out and it was late. He had almost suggested that John take his room, but it felt wrong. Sherlock had to put aside what had happened last night with John and focus on the more pressing problem of A.G.R.A. It was proving more difficult that he would have thought. Every new piece of information reminded him that this woman had taken advantage of John’s grief to get to him. And that was his fault. 

If he hadn’t left- No. If he hadn’t left, John would have died. And that was unimaginable. He would be content with having John safely back at Baker Street for the moment. It would have to be enough. Sherlock had closed his eyes, giving in to the urge to remember the feeling of John in his arms, the smell of his shampoo. It was everything that he had wanted, everything that he had dreamed about while he was away from John. And it had been ripped away once by his own foolishness. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

Sherlock had turned his attention back to the files, and that had taken the rest of the night. 

Now he watched as John made his way down the stairs from his room, dressed in yesterday’s clothes. He could see the dark circles under John’s eyes from where he sat at the desk. He wanted to go to him, hold him like he did last night, see where this would take them, but he held himself back. It wasn’t the right time. They had to deal with the Mary situation first and then perhaps… 

Sherlock blinked in confusion at the mug of tea that suddenly appeared in front of his face. He looked up at John who, obviously exhausted, was still looking him over with concern.

“Did you even sleep last night?” John’s lip twitched at Sherlock’s scowl as he took the offered tea. “Yeah, I didn’t either. Not really.” Then he did something fascinating. He smoothed a hand over Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock froze, expecting John to pull away or make some excuse, but he didn’t. He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and then slid his hand down to rest on the back of his neck. Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, ever so slightly. 

It felt wonderful. This was what he wanted, what he craved. John’s touch was more addictive than any drug. They had to get this case resolved quickly. John said something that he missed and he opened his eyes. “Pardon?”

John chuckled. “I said, what are you looking at?” He hesitated. “Is it what Mycroft brought over?” He couldn’t even say her name. Sherlock nodded.

“I’ve been looking over the information more closely. John, I-” He didn’t know how to handle this without accidentally hurting John, but they didn’t have time to tiptoe around sentiment. John’s hand on his neck was too distracting and he wished that he would move it while he never wanted him to move it ever again. He swallowed and John, sensing his conflict, moved away to sit across the desk from him, a determined look on his face.

“What do we need to do?” Sherlock felt a wave of relief. This is what he needed. With John at his side, he could do anything. He would have done well to have remembered that two years ago. 

“What do you  _ want _ to do?” This is the question that had plagued Sherlock for most of the night. As disturbing as some of the things that he read had been, there was still a chance for Mary to live a normal life. He knew that if that is what John wanted, Mycroft would make it happen. 

John looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What do you mean?”

Sherlock sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “If you want to go back to her, I’m sure Mycroft can-”

John set his mug down on the desk with a thud. “Christ, no, I don’t want to go back to her. She lied to me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stared at him. “ _ I _ lied to you, John.” He watched the fleeting emotions passing over John’s face. 

“You did.” Sherlock felt an ache in his chest. He forced himself to meet John’s eyes. “Your name is actually Sherlock Holmes, right?” He nodded, not sure where this was going. John gave him a small smile. “Then you’re already one up on her. Point in your favour.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” Sherlock blurted, feeling that it was necessary for John to know everything.

“What?” 

Sherlock’s lips twitched in his own small grin. “That’s the whole of it. Just thought you should know.”

“William? Really?” John laughed out loud. It was delightful. “And you chose to go with Sherlock?” 

Sherlock shrugged, smiling wider at John’s good humor. “I couldn’t allow Mycroft to get one over on me.”

“Of course not.” John sobered, thoughts back to the matter at hand. “What are we dealing with here? I looked at the folder, but I wasn’t at my best last night.”

“Something too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in.” He watched John mull this over. He gave Sherlock a narrow-eyed stare.

“Are you trying to put me off?” 

Sherlock turned the laptop around so that John could take a look. “God, no. I’m trying to recruit you.” 

\--

Janine looked at her phone some amount of trepidation. Mary had coached her on what to text, but there was no guarantee that Sherlock would bite. “He won’t be able to help himself,” Mary had said. “He can’t pass up an opportunity to show off and now that John’s back, he has his favourite audience right there.”

Mary had talked about John leaving her for Sherlock like it hadn’t mattered in the least. After her initial panic about what it would do to her deal with Magnussen, she had just proceeded to her next move. It hadn’t meant anything to her. 

And now Janine had thrown her lot in with a psychopath. Or sociopath. She really wasn’t sure of anything except that she was terrified all the time of Magnussen finding out. He’d been in a terrible temper when he had found out that John Watson was no longer under his watch. She’d escaped physically unscathed, but every time she thought about how he  _ talked  _ about Sherlock Holmes it made her want to take a very hot shower.

Magnussen was  _ obsessed _ with Sherlock. It made her skin crawl. In particular, one conversation that she overheard when he had matter of factly told Mary, “I’ve never  _ had _ a detective,” and then went on to wax poetic about his hands and how lovely they were. Like a woman’s. It made her shudder to think about it. 

Her mobile pinged and she pulled up the incoming text. It was from Sherlock, and it looked promising.

**Meet me at 221B Baker Street at 2pm to discuss further. SH**

It was her in. She thought about texting Mary to let her know, but decided to wait. She knew that Mary was only out to save herself, and that her safety was just a convenient byproduct as long as she was useful. Sherlock hadn’t seemed that bad. He was an arrogant prat for sure, she saw that from a mile away, but there was something about him that made her want to trust him.

Janine had made it this far by trusting her gut, so hopefully that would take her a bit farther. 

**See you at 2.**

\--

“Tell me again why we’re doing this.” John pushed his chair back into its usual spot before falling down into it. He had ordered a very embarassed Sherlock to help him carry it back down to its proper home in the sitting room after forcing him to take a nap. What did it say about him that he had wanted to join him? John knew that they were going to have to talk about everything, but it just didn’t seem to be the right time. After they were clear of this and done with the whole Mary situation, then they would talk. It would have to be enough for now to know that Sherlock felt the same way. 

Sherlock sighed. “I told you. Janine is an unknown as far as Mary goes. It is probable that the only reason Mary befriended her was her tie to Magnussen. I suppose they became allies of a sort.”

“Mutual hatred of the bastard?” John could see that. “But that doesn’t explain why she wants to see you.”

Sherlock waved a hand and sat in his own chair. “That has Mary written all over it.” He handed over his mobile for John to read the texts for himself. “Do you see?”

John’s lips twitched as he scrolled through the messages. “What I see is Janine flirting with you while simultaneously whinging about her horrible boss.” He looked up at Sherlock to see his brow furrowed in that adorable way that he had. Adorable. He almost laughed out loud and stopped himself. He could think things like that without having to shove them back in his mind. Soon he might even be able to act on them, kiss that place that crinkled right between his eyes. 

Sherlock snatched his phone back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

John was about to tease him again when they were interrupted by the doorbell. Sherlock leapt to his feet and moved toward the door of the sitting room as he could hear Mrs. Hudson’s heels tapping her way to answer it. John frowned as he stood. He did not approve of this part at all. 

“I don’t know how you expect me to just sit and wait while you-”

Sherlock steered him toward the hallway to his bedroom. “We have no time to argue about this, John. She responds well to me, and I can use that to our advantage.” He rolled his eyes at John’s indignant huff. “Fine. She’s attracted to me. It’s never bothered you before.”

“It’s always bothered me!” John hissed. “You just never noticed.” 

Sherlock leaned down, lips barely touching the shell of John’s ear, and murmured, “I always notice.” He gave John a gentle push through the door and pulled the door shut, leaving it open just enough so that the conversation about to take place in the sitting room could be heard clearly. 

The timing was fortunate. He heard Mrs. Hudson ushering Janine up the stairs and he plastered a smile on his face. Then dialed it back just a bit, remembering what John had said about his ‘normal people’ smile. Sherlock shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it on a kitchen chair. He’d chosen the pale blue shirt on purpose, fully aware of how it accented his eyes. It was his battle dress, his armour, and he would use it to his advantage. 

He’d also noticed how John’s eyes had followed him as he had paced, explaining what was about to happen. 

\--

John could hear what was being said in the sitting room and he didn’t like it, not one little bit. He heard Sherlock’s laugh, followed by Janine’s giggle, and his left hand clenched into a fist. He wasn’t jealous, not really. He just didn’t like listening to Janine flirt her arse off and Sherlock allowing it, the charming bastard.

He was definitely jealous. 

\--

If she wasn’t terrified, Janine would find the whole situation hilarious. Sherlock was charming and very nice to look at, but his attempt at earnestness was laughable. He did seem truly interested in what she had to say about Magnussen. And Mary was right, he had noticed the black eye. That, more than anything, seemed to garner an honest reaction. 

“So what do you think?” This was the part that Janine was nervous about. She’d just spilled her guts about her awful boss, all true, and now had to wait to see if Sherlock would take her case to prove that Magnussen was hoarding records about everyone and anyone that might be of importance. This was also mostly true, even though she’d never seen anything at the office. She’d avoided Appledore so far. The thought made her shudder. Magnussen  was just so damn  _ creepy _ . 

Sherlock was giving her an unreadable look. She didn’t know him well enough to even guess what it meant. He had been pleasant enough so far, but he was far from the uncomfortable man that she had witnessed at that horrible dinner the other night. She had the distinct feeling that he didn’t believe a word she said. 

\--

John had tried not to wander around Sherlock’s room too much because he didn’t want to make too much noise, and had ended up sitting on the side of the bed. He couldn’t hear from there quite as clearly, but he assumed that Sherlock would rather he didn’t give himself away by clomping about pacing in a circle. He could hear Sherlock’s deep voice, and could tell that he was discussing Janine’s ‘case’ with her. He was good at stringing people along. So was Mary, apparently. 

John grimaced at the thought of Mary. How had he allowed himself to fall in love with someone like that? Nothing was real with her, not even her name. And now this new  _ thing _ with Sherlock. It was enough to make his head spin. He wanted to grab this  _ thing _ with both hands and never let go. He ran his palm over the smooth surface of Sherlock’s duvet and forgot about listening to the conversation in the other room for a moment. 

Could he really have this? After losing Sherlock for two years and miraculously getting him back, alive and well, could he really have this part of him? John couldn’t help but think of all of the times he’d lain awake at night, wondering what he could have done differently. And now he had this second chance. When this was all over…

Enough. Sherlock probably wouldn’t be happy with the decision, but this farce with Janine had gone on long enough. The quicker the Mary situation was resolved, the quicker they would be able to move on to figuring out this thing between them. He stood before he could change his mind and walked through the bedroom door, not bothering to silence his footsteps. 

This had to end now.

\--

Sherlock kicked himself for not hearing John’s footsteps sooner. Janine looked past him, eyes wide as John came into the room. “What are you doing here?” Janine’s shock could be used to his advantage. He decided to just go with it. He was, after all, an excellent actor.

“The better question,” John’s voice was scathing, “is what are  _ you _ doing here?”

Janine stammered and gripped her hands together in her lap. “I, well, um-”

Sherlock gave her a small smile, ignoring John’s glare. “Why don’t you tell John what you just told me?” 

She fidgeted for a moment where she was seated in John’s newly relocated chair. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the scrape of chair legs across the floor. John moved the desk chair and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest in a clear defensive and almost possessive move. Sherlock felt his lips involuntarily twitch at the gesture. 

He sat up straight and looked down at his nose at Janine. “You were saying?” His arrogance seemed to have the opposite effect on Janine that it did on other people. She visibly drew herself together and sat up straighter, matching him glare for glare.

“I have a horrible boss who knows a lot of things about some horrible people and some not so horrible people. He’s an abusive arse and a creepy bugger that needs taken down a peg. Do you want to take the case or not?” She looked at Sherlock expectantly, taking John out of the equation. Interesting. 

Sherlock checked John’s expression out of the corner of his eye and forged ahead. John seemed to be okay, but this next bit was going to get rough. “And what does this have to do with Mary Morstan?” He had her. Her face blanched and he saw John twitch a hand toward her, as if he was afraid that she would pass out. She really was a terrible liar, despite all of her bravado.

“I- I don’t know what you mean, um, I-”

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair, a hard expression on his face. “You do, and you will tell us.”

Janine shrank back in her chair and he felt a twinge of regret, pulling back a bit. His instinct was verified by John’s quiet voice. “She’s been through enough. She’ll tell us because she needs our help. Isn’t that right, Janine?” Warm, thoughtful John. He always looked for the good in people. It was what made him such an easy target for people like Mary and Magnussen. 

“It wasn’t my idea, I swear! Mary wanted me to come up with this story, well kind of a story, he really is a bastard and he’s got loads of dirt on people, but I promise that it was not my idea to get you involved.” She was speaking directly to Sherlock now, which made him wonder.

“Alright.” Sherlock pressed his fingertips to his lips in contemplation. “Why did Mary want you to get us to Magnussen’s office?” It was a blunt approach but he knew that John would not appreciate showing off at this point. 

“I don’t know.” Janine raised her hands at his disbelieving look. “All I know is that Magnussen has something on her and her past. And he’s obsessed with you.” She pointed a finger at Sherlock. “I’d stay as far away from him as I could, if I were you.”

_ But you’re not me. _ Sherlock considered her words. Could Magnussen be behind everything? Was he setting himself up as the next Moriarty? He certainly had the power and connections. He was the one that pointed Mary in John’s direction and turned her loose. 

“Obsessed? Like Moriarty?” Sherlock was glad that John had asked the obvious question. It was what made John special; he always knew what to ask to get the information that he required. And Sherlock wanted to know everything. He needed the data to make sure that John was safe. If he had been stupid enough to miss something like this, there was simply no room for another mistake.

Janine shook her head. “Nothing like that. Moriarty was after his mind,” she nodded at Sherlock, “Magnussen wants to  _ own _ him. You should hear the way he talks about him.” She visibly shuddered. “It’s creepy.”

Sherlock felt a flash of unease run up his spine, but he kept his face passive. It wasn’t the first time that unwanted attentions had been directed his way, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. John bristled beside him, wearing his anger like a shield. John  _ needed _ the anger. It would center him and pull him through whatever they were going to face. 

It was time to get moving. “We will deal with Magnussen in time. What I need you to do now is text Mary and tell her to meet you here.” John shot him an incredulous look. “We need her here, on our terms. It’s the only way.” John nodded, but he didn’t look happy at the prospect.

Janine looked resigned as she pulled out her mobile. “What should I tell her?”

“Just what I said. She’ll figure out the rest, she’s clever.”

\--

Mary stared at the text. He knew. And if Sherlock knew, then John knew.  _ Fucking hell _ . Well, that would put a wrench in things. It also brought in the colossal problem of Mycroft Holmes. What would Magnussen say now that the elder Holmes was onto them?

She closed her eyes and allowed herself a small smile. Of course. What better way to close the trap than to play on the sentiments of little brother? He cared for John, it was plain to her now, and evident from John’s own mouth that those feelings were returned. She could use this. Use them to play the game. It would feel good to be herself for a change. 

Now she just had to play her cards carefully. 

\--

Suddenly, John remembered the things that he had read in that file. He caught Sherlock’s eye, and twitched his head toward the stairs leading up to his room. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, observing for a moment and then he nodded in understanding. He rose, but he didn’t head toward John’s room, choosing to move toward his own room instead. “Won’t be but a moment, Janine.” 

John followed him, confused of course, but that was a natural state of being in situations like this. He closed the door behind them and whispered, “I don’t have my gun, Sherlock. She made me-” he choked off in a harsh laugh and ran his hand through his hair. “She told me that guns made her uncomfortable and I gave the bloody thing to Greg for safekeeping. I’m such an idiot!”

Sherlock ignored the rant and opened his nightstand drawer instead. The Browning L9A1 that he pulled from it was immaculately clean but John could tell that it had been well used. He could feel something in his chest crack open. This is what Sherlock had done while he was gone. He saw it so clearly now. Sherlock was looking at him intently. “John, breathe.”

He sucked in a whistling breath, fighting back the panic attack. Sherlock placed the gun on the nightstand and moved closer, putting his hands on John’s shoulders. John could feel the warmth of him and it helped drive back the sheer horror of what he had just realized. Sherlock was here and alive. That was all that mattered. And it was John’s job to make sure that continued to be true.

“I’m alright. It’s alright. Just a bit of a shock, that’s all.” Sherlock squeezed his shoulders once more and picked the gun back up, offering it to John. He took it, ejecting the magazine and then checking the chamber automatically. Fully loaded. Sherlock slept with a fully loaded gun within easy reach.  _ Stop _ . He would have to unpack all of that later. They had bigger things to think about right now.

“Thanks.” Sherlock gave him a small smile as he tucked the Browning into his waistband. John pulled his jumper down, making sure it was completely out of sight. Like it would matter. If Mary was as clever as Sherlock thought she was, she would expect it. Let her. He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

\--

“She says no.” Janine’s hand visibly shook. Sherlock’s eyebrows rose in surprise for a moment before a crooked smile graced his face. He plucked the mobile from Janine’s hand and started typing, muttering to himself. Janine looked at John in confusion and he shrugged.

Sherlock ignored Janine where she perched in John’s chair as if waiting for her executioner. He couldn’t worry about her fear right now, not when his thoughts were only for John and how to get them clear of this. Because that was his mission. Use Mary to shut Magnussen down and get them both free of Moriarty and his like for good. 

He wanted what would come after. John here at Baker Street, looking forward to where that would take them. His resolve to put that aside until the case was solved crumbled when he saw John’s face at the sight of the gun and its implications. John was no fool. He had understood immediately what it meant. 

That was not a conversation that he was looking forward to, but he would gladly confess everything to John if it meant that he would stay. 

\--

“Give him a minute.” It had better only be a minute. No more secrets. John didn’t think he could take any more secrecy from anyone right now. “Sherlock?” To his credit, Sherlock did glance up at him before typing intently again with a frown. That wasn’t promising. “What is it?”

Instead of answering, Sherlock handed the mobile to John to take a look for himself. He fumbled for a moment with the unfamiliar phone before finally figuring out how to scroll up to read the texts from the beginning of the conversation.

**They want you to come to Baker Street. J**

**Why? M**

**You know why. J**

**No. M**

**You have to. J**

**Please. J**

**Hell no. They can’t possibly believe I’m that stupid. M**

**No you’re too clever for that. SH**

**There you are. I was wondering if you would do your own dirty work. M**

**My ‘dirty work’? You’ve done enough for both of us. SH**

**As if your hands are clean. M**

**I never said they were. SH**

**Right. I’m not coming to Baker Street. If you want to talk face to face you have to play along. M**

**I’m tired of playing games. Your former boss ruined them for me. SH**

**Bully for you. I don’t have control of this one. M**

**I don’t believe you. SH**

**I don’t care. CAM wants a meeting. M**

**Why should I? SH**

**Because I would be out of John’s life for good. M**

John stopped reading at looked up at Sherlock. This sounded dangerous but the knowledge that she would be out of his life was tempting. He looked back down at the screen.

**Tempting. But I need more. SH**

**CAM needs to be stopped. Do you really think he wouldn’t hurt John to get to you? M**

**Fine. SH**

**I knew that would get you. I should thank you, you know. M**

**Whatever for? SH**

**John going out on cases with you was very beneficial for me. M**

**I think he enjoyed himself as well. M**

John handed the mobile back to Sherlock. He couldn’t read any more. “Tell me when we leave.” Jesus Christ, the nerve she had to use that against him. Against Sherlock. He left Janine and Sherlock in the sitting room and walked to the bedroom, not even considering the fact that it was Sherlock’s. He needed to get away and it was either that or walking out the front door, which wasn’t an option. Slamming the door was more satisfying that it should have been.

\--

Sherlock watched John stalk toward his room and handed the phone back to Janine without looking. He managed to not flinch at the sound of the door slamming, but it was worrying all the same. “You can go now.” He muted Janine’s sounds of protest and waited until he heard her footsteps on the stairs before rising from his chair. 

He had a good idea of where John had stopped reading the texts. Mary was trying to bait him, and it was working. She knew his pressure point too well. He would have to play along, but he was going to do things differently now. Not alone this time. If last night’s stilted conversation was any indication, he would never have to go out alone ever again. He allowed himself a moment of hope for the future, but only a moment. 

He walked to his bedroom with deliberate steps. John was obviously upset and he didn’t wish to exacerbate the situation by surprising him. He didn’t knock but he opened the door slowly, grateful that it wasn’t locked. He didn’t think John the type to lock himself in the bedroom in a strop, but one never knew.

John was standing at the window, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Definitely still upset. Sherlock waited. There had been a time when he would have burst into the room, demanding that John get over whatever insignificant thing that had caused him to act like this so they could get on with things. It was different now. They were both different. He was no longer the man that he once was and, he had to admit, neither was John. He moved with caution now, unsure as to how John was going to react. 

He missed the time when he would have known by John’s stance if he was going to shout or if he was going rush out of the flat to ‘get some air.’ Now John was hard to predict, and so was the entire situation. With the added element of Mary’s betrayal, he wouldn’t be terribly surprised if John ended up being the one shooting holes in the walls. He glanced at the nightstand, and could tell by the alignment that the gun had been secured.

“Is she gone?” John’s voice was low and even. It was just this side of dangerous and Sherlock felt a strange thrill run up his spine that he couldn’t quite explain.

“She is. I think-” John moved before Sherlock could blink. Sherlock took an involuntary step back as John approached him, stopping when his back hit the wall. John looked at him and seemed to make a decision before stepping into his body, raising a hand to Sherlock’s face. He stroked the back of his fingers down a quickly flushing cheek and looked into Sherlock’s eyes as if asking for permission. He must have found what he was looking for because he leaned up to press his lips against Sherlock’s.

It was a gentle kiss. Just a press of lips that made Sherlock’s head spin. His eyes closed without his permission, hands rising to grip John’s biceps. He pulled John even closer, their chests bumping and noses pressing together awkwardly. John broke the kiss and Sherlock leaned down, chasing his mouth, not wanting this moment to end. He tilted his head and, yes, that was better. That was so much better. 

This was everything he wanted. Everything that he had allowed himself to dream about all those months without John, without anyone. There was a short spike of fear that this was a dream, that it was his mind playing tricks on him again, but John was warm in his arms, his breath on his cheek. He parted his lips and deepened the kiss. 

John made a noise in the back of his throat and his arms wrapped around Sherlock, hands sliding up his back. He felt John’s fingers in his hair and they pulled him back to the moment, grounding him. He wanted to sink into this, forget everything else and explore this with John. But they didn’t have time. Not right now.

He pulled back reluctantly, gratified at the way that John swayed forward. He pulled him in closer, wrapping his arms around John and burying his nose in John’s hair. “We don’t have time for this.” He felt John’s body stiffen and he held him tighter so that he couldn’t pull away. “Please don’t misunderstand. I want nothing more than to be here with you, but I would prefer to put this  _ situation _ behind us so that we can move forward.” He pressed his lips to John’s temple and felt John relax in his arms. “And I want to move forward.” 

“Alright.” John said, voice muffled from where his face was pressed to Sherlock’s neck. “After this is all done then. We have time.”

Sherlock smiled against John’s skin. He could have this. Just one last thing standing in their way. 

  
  



End file.
